Somebody, Somewhere, Someday
by nashie-chan
Summary: To complete the infamous XIII, seven stories would have to end before seven new ones could begin. Chapter 6. There had been others before, but Maia knew that having her was part of a dance he never learned the steps to...
1. And Let the Dream Descend

**Somebody, Somewhere, Someday**

_Chapter 1: "And Let the Dream Descend"_

Written by Samurai-Nashie

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts is owned by Square-Enix and Disney respectively. This is a non-profit literary work written for entertainment purposes, and I have no legal claim to any of the characters used in this fanfiction.

xxx

White.

That was what he remembered in later months, the first impression they ever had on him. That sheer overbearing light nearly blinded his eyes when he first came into the room. And the white did not seem to end. It faded into a non-existent ceiling, and the only reason he was aware there was a floor was because of the fact that there was a huge, gray, strangely-shaped symbol lying below his feet.

He didn't remember seeing his shadow.

He stood right in the middle of the room, surrounded on all sides – by walls? It was hard to tell. There was no ending and beginning in this place that should not have existed. It might have unnerved him or even frightened him – but it didn't. Instead, he dared to gaze up at the black-cloaked figures seated around him, high up on the thrones. The significance of the thrones – and his obvious lowly position – was not lost on him.

For the longest of moments, silence prevailed. He could glimpse none of the faces of the twelve that surrounded him, for all of their hoods were up and their faces were in shadows. He could not even discern which of them had been the one to bring him here in the first place. It was beginning to irritate him that they all seemed to be dissecting him with their eyes.

Hadn't he felt this before?

"He's a child," someone suddenly said from his immediate right, and he could hear the barely repressed annoyance in the monotonous, slightly nasal voice. He bristled at being called a "child" – though, truth be told, he could not recall how old he was. He simply could not remember.

The others seemed to take the thought into consideration. Finally, another spoke, this time from behind him. "I would think that age does not matter in this sort of thing."

"After all, you would be considered decrepit _and_ buried if we allowed people in based on age," a third voice remarked coldly with a cruel snicker.

"No one was asking _your_ opinion."

"He _is_ young. What sort of experience could he possibly have?" yet another voice mused from next to the black-cloaked figure with the cruel voice. It was softly spoken, yet the rich tones made him peer up into the fathomless shadows of the hood in curiosity. He could almost see a pair of eyes gazing down at him in a sort of removed interest. Almost.

He still wasn't quite sure what he was here. The man who had found him wandering the streets had said something about meeting people "just like him". Of course, the man had adamantly refused to tell him more than that. He had considered the fact that a brick wall would have carried on more of a conversation than the man. And he was still in the dark on exactly where they were – someplace huge, he knew that. He sensed that, actually, more than anything.

But, still, none of his questions had been answered.

And it was annoying.

"Excuse me!" he shouted, so suddenly and so harshly that the conversation buzzing over his head came to a complete halt. "Are you going to tell me why I'm here or not? Because your arguments seem pretty pointless to me."

The hush that had fallen over some of the members quickly grew an irritated air, and he was sure that he heard someone mutter something along the lines of "yet another young upstart…". He decided to ignore that comment and turned to look – "glare" is more like it – at the people sitting high above him in those precariously placed white thrones of theirs.

Suddenly, a laugh broke the silence. He spun and turned to face one of the thrones behind him. One of the black figures leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. "You've got guts, kid." He could have sworn he heard a teasing note in that voice, and it didn't do a thing to knock off a spark of his irritation. "The question should be why do _you_ think you're here? After all, no one forced you to come."

He was quiet at that question. Why was he here? Yes, randomly walking around the streets of a foreign town wasn't the best idea in town. But neither was following a stranger who promised answers still left unanswered. He couldn't remember much of anything about his life before waking up on that bridge and looking out over the city, so quiet and bright and…there was something, he was sure, something just out of the corner of his mind that wanted to know…

Ah, there it was. Know what? He wanted to know what happened to him. He wanted to know why he couldn't remember, how he had gotten into a city he couldn't remember. Why had he followed such a strange cloaked figure? Why was the city deserted, bathed in eternal gold light? When had his memory been completely destroyed, leaving only faint…no, not even faint details of a life once lived? Who was he really?

"I…want to know an answer," he finally said, albeit reluctant at having to express that want to this group of strangers. "To my question. I have to find it out."

"What is your question?" someone asked, and this time, he turned to the highest throne in the room. The person's deep, nearly regal tones commanded absolute attention, and it didn't take him long to realize that amongst the group of people in that white emptiness, this person must be the one in charge. When he didn't reply right away, the person continued, "We have all come here with questions that many do not ask themselves. Perhaps…we are the answer you seek."

_Perhaps…_

"Who am I?" he finally demanded, staring right up into the hood that hid any distinguishable features. "If you have the answer, then tell me."

"We cannot tell you who you are. For that is only something you know. However…what you are may be more feasible."

"That's no answer."

"So you have absolutely no desire to know _what_ you are? If that is the case, then no one is keeping you here. You may leave any time you wish."

He hesitated. It had been offered so simply. They could not (_would not_?) tell him what he really wanted to know, instead, offering another question just as profound but far less important in its answer to him. And the choices, so very simple: stay or go. Stay and learn an answer that he did not want to know, or go and never find out anything past this pretense.

It was all very simple, really.

"Fine, then," he murmured, swiping a stray strand of golden blonde hair back behind his ear. Very blue eyes lifted from their furious glare at the ground and turned to give the leader a solid stare that would have unnerved any other person. "Tell me – what am I?"

He told him.

The others watched as a shock-dulled expression of disbelief slowly crept into the boy's face. His fists tightened at his sides, and he ultimately looked away after the leader had finished explaining. For another long, long moment, silence reigned supreme in the room, as oppressing as the thrones and the sheer whiteness itself.

Some who sat on the thrones, watching as the news began to register with the boy, had never felt the sudden emptiness that such information brought with it.

Others who sat on the thrones had.

_He is still very young…what could possibly have happened to him?_

_Poor runt. Doesn't even know what he's getting himself into._

_Way to drop the bomb on him, Superior. Why not just say you killed his puppy too?_

_Is he even important enough to join us?_

_The wheel of fate has turned again. Take your place on it, or you will be left behind, boy._

_He cannot be seriously thinking of putting him with us!_

Their thoughts were unheard by all except themselves, and the man with the firmness and regality in his voice continued to tell the blonde-haired young man in front of him of what it meant to be…non-existent. To be a simple shell. To simply not…be.

But there was a catch. There was always a catch. But this time, the catch promised salvation. The man told him, watching as the boy's face remained completely and utterly blank, staring at the ground in a sort of a vapid concentration. That one bit of hope – as small as it was, it could move mountains. Brows knitted over very blue eyes and he looked up once again at the throne. "There is another way, then?"

"That is our goal," the man simply stated.

"Then it's my goal too," he replied quietly. The suddenness of his decision startled some of those sitting in the thrones above. No one had excepted that readily – no one. And he had said it without missing a beat. Those very blue eyes were set with determination, a frown of consideration gracing his cherub-like features. "I'll join your organization if it means…it seems as if I have nowhere else to go."

_If it means I can find out who I am._

He did not express those final sentiments aloud.

The man in the highest throne straightened his posture – not that his posture had been slacking at all at any given point in the conversation.

"The decision is made. Welcome to the Organization, Number XIII."

His shoulders stiffened at the label. There may have been many things he couldn't remember. But there was one thing he did know – and it certainly wasn't this number. He caught and held the invisible gaze of the man seated so high above him, and scowled.

"I'm not a title. My name is…" He faltered, trying to recall what the man had said to him so many hours before. Some sort of concoction of something that may or may not have existed. "My name is Roxas."

"And the thirteenth member to our little group," came the laughing voice from before. Roxas tossed a dark glance over his shoulder, as the man removed his hood. The smirk would always be the first thing he remembered later. That smirk and dancing green eyes that seemed to take amusement in his annoyance. "Which makes you Number XIII." A pause, and then helpfully, "Got it memorized?"

"We're actually letting him into the Organization?" someone protested loudly. The removal of the hood revealed a very beautiful and very dangerous face. Pale blue eyes flickered. "We don't even know if he can _do_ anything. For all we know, he's a liability."

"The decision has been made, Number XII. Or would you prefer to return to your position as lowest ranking member in this Organization?" The threat in the leader's voice was very, very clear. The blonde woman stiffened, and said nothing else, but continued to stare spitefully at the young man standing at the center of the room.

"Y'know, that sort of has a ring to it," said the person sitting on the throne next to the man with the green eyes. A brief wave of the hand, and a shrug of one shoulder. "Organization XIII. Sort of like a bad luck charm, don't you think?"

"Hopefully not bad luck for us," another male voice chuckled, this time from the one sitting next to the leader's throne. He lowered his hood, and gave the previous speaker a thoughtful look with his one good eye. "That would totally lower our morale."

"When he says things like that," the first voice from before muttered darkly, "it always lowers our morale."

The person in question removed his hood, and Roxas found himself staring at youth that couldn't be much older than him. Sea-green eyes flashed in annoyance. "Someone sure is moody today."

"Enough!" the leader commanded, with enough force to shake everybody into silence. He did not lower his hood, but the feeling of knowing his eyes were watching every single one of them was enough to render them mute for the moment. "Number XIII's position is precarious. Whether this new arrangement suits your personal whims or not is not something of importance in the growing importance of our mission."

The man turned his imperceptible glare towards every single black-cloaked figure in the room. "Number XIII will be treated as one of our own." The statement left no room for discussion. It was quite clear that the matter would never be brought up again. With that simple instruction, the boy's place in the Organization had been cemented, as if writ with blood. Just as it had been the last six members.

But their stories began far differently than that of the Key of Destiny.

Their stories would end far differently as well.

xxx

**Author's Note** (1 Dec 06): So much snow outside! You would think I would have a snow day from work, but no. Bleh. Ten lovely inches.

I don't have a beta reader, so there will probably be continuity mistakes aplenty. Gomen nasai! You'll have to forgive me. The last time I played Kingdom Hearts II was back at the end of summer, so a lot of stuff I'm basing my shabby memory. Thank god for YouTube.

Eh, this is going to be one of my shorter fanfiction ventures – with a total of only nine chapters. But I think it's definitely going to be a fun one – I absolutely love the Organization, and writing backgrounds for the Number XII through XIII (well, technically XII) is going to be interesting, to say the least.

All the chapters will be lines from various songs. Kudos to anyone who can figure out ALL nine songs by the end. Double kudos to anyone who can correctly guess which Organization members actually said anything in this chapter.

Please read and review!


	2. Until He Opens His Eyes

_**Somebody, Somewhere, Someday**_

_Chapter 2: "Until He Opens His Eyes"_

Written by Samurai-Nashie

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts is owned by Square-Enix and Disney respectively. This is a non-profit literary work written for entertainment purposes, and I have no legal claim to any of the characters used in this fanfiction.

xxx

"You do realize that he's not going to be happy with you when he hears about the…er…incident," the man standing next to him said, tossing him an apple. His friend caught it with one hand and, in the same movement, took a bite out of it, shrugging. The other man rolled his eyes. "How can you be so nonchalant about it? This is the third time he's come down in the past two months! Two months! I'm sure the President is a busy man."

"Probably," came the half-hearted response, which was followed by a smile. "Can you vouch for that though?" When the other man gaped at him, he shrugged again and took another bite of the apple. "No offense meant by that, but if the President has to come down here every two months when he should be, I don't know, running the Union, don't you think maybe he has too much time on his hands?"

"You're insane."

"Probably," Ïsa chuckled, getting to his feet and beginning to button up his uniform jacket. "That's what everybody in the Chamber of Affairs says, anyway." He paused thoughtfully. "Do you really think they've been holed up in their offices these past few days over a handful of misfit soliders?"

The other man scowled. "Your misfit soldiers. Not mine."

"My thoughts exactly." Ïsa grabbed the black woolen coat hanging on the back his chair and put it on, somehow still juggling the red apple in his hand. "If they were your misfit soliders-"

"I don't have any!"

"-then I probably would suspect they'd be making themselves useless in their offices, bickering over it." He made his way over to the door, grabbing his hat on the way out. He glanced back over his shoulder with a frown, dark hazel eyes glinting in the filtered sunlight. "Well? You coming are not?"

Brant sighed, and hurried to catch up with his superior. He still wasn't quite sure where this conversation was heading, but knowing Ïsa, it would surely make him end up with a headache. The commander general of the Union's southern division was notoriously known for his random conversations, starting with one point and _always_ ending up on some other topic a few minutes later without provocation. He was brilliant, no doubt about it, but some prankster god in heaven must've thought it terrible funny to give Ïsa the memory span of a goldfish.

The two men strode down the carpeted hallways at a brisk pace, stopping every so often to talk to any person of passing interest. Which, for Ïsa, meant just about everybody. Brant resisted the urge to look at his watch as the taller man stopped for the fifth time to strike up a conversation with a young lad barely into his twenties about his recruitment process ("Sir, it was hell!") and wondered how in the world Ïsa managed to keep all of their names straight.

"A gift from my great-grandmother," he replied when Brant asked him after the young man was out of sight. "Or maybe it was my great aunt. I don't remember."

"Useful trait."

"So is remembering your umbrella," Ïsa deadpanned as he opened the door to the training fields and was met with completely gray and suddenly very wet scenery. "Wasn't the sun just out a minute ago?"

"September weather, remember?"

"It's still September?"

Twenty-two minutes and one long, wet walk later, the two men arrived in the lobby of the North Offices. The receptionist in the lobby looked as amused as she dared and politely asked the men if they needed her to hang up their coats. Ïsa was too busy wringing out his ponytail, muttering obscenities beneath his breath as he did so, so Brant took the opportunity to nod an affirmative to the petite girl behind the desk.

As the girl scurried out of the room to put the coats away, Brant gave Ïsa a look. "You know, you could just cut your hair. It would be so much more simple, and things like this wouldn't happen." The look he received for the comment made Brant take a mental note to stop telling Ïsa to cut his hair – such things, it seemed, couldn't possibly be good for his future interests.

The two were silent as they wove their way through a series of corridors that made of the numerous floors of the North Offices. This time, they did not stop to talk to anyone they ran into, instead making curt nods to those of lower rank and salutes to the very few of higher rank. Brant frowned inwardly. _This feud is getting ridiculous – you would think one of them would have backed down by now…_

Of course, this was the President and Ïsa. The two had never seen eye to eye on anything – except their general disgust of the other. The President thought Ïsa was an incompetent leader of his troops, and Ïsa thought the President was incompetent…period. The feud had seemed to increase in intensity the past two years after Ïsa became the youngest commander general ever at age twenty-four – against the President's wishes. But everyone except the President seemed to see that the position was well deserved – the dark-haired man was a brilliant strategist and respected general.

Brant thought they were both crazy though.

Especially after the most recent incident…

"Brant, I think I should probably go the rest of the way on my own," suggested Ïsa as they reached the forth floor. "You don't need to get dragged into this mess as well."

"I'm your friend – I'm already dragged into this mess," came the response.

"I'm serious. I think he really plans to go through with some his threats this time."

"I don't think the Chamber would let him do that," Brant argued, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Whether he admits it or not, you're one of the best he has."

Ïsa raised an eyebrow. "That's true, isn't it?" As Brant rolled his eyes, the taller man gave him a brief squeeze on the shoulder. "I'll be fine, Brant. This thing should blow over quickly. If not…well, I suppose I'm not as quick on my feet as some may say."

"No one says that!"

"They don't?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to come with you?"

"No, you have other things to do," the general said as he began to walk away. As Brant opened his mouth to ask what in the world could possibly be more important than this, Ïsa tossed a quick glance over his shoulder. "You still have to call Celie, remember?" Brant's jaw dropped.

"T-that…h-how…who told…?"

But by then, his friend had already disappeared around the corner. Brant scowled furiously and kicked the nearest wall in frustration.

xxx

Ïsa waited until he could no longer hear his friend's footsteps before the last traces of friendliness had melted away from his countenance. Jovial he was around most people – only the President and the Chamber saw this side of him. He wanted to make sure they knew he was serious this time.

He strode the rest of the way down the hallway, decorations becoming more lavish and abundant the closer he came to the meeting room. Pictures of former presidents and Chamber members adorned the halls, glaring animosity (or in one or two rare cases, benevolence) towards whoever was unfortunate enough to pass under their lifeless scrutiny. The relentless, impersonal stare had never fazed Ïsa before, and didn't now. If anything, his amber gaze was just as harsh, if not more so, than the President's predecessors.

Ïsa was dangerous. Not many people seemed to notice under his usually cheerful façade. But to become a commander general – one of the highest ranking positions in the army – required far more skill than many attributed to the dark-haired man who was constantly forgetting the day of the week. Brant knew. Brant had seen first-hand what would happen when Ïsa's demeanor would suddenly change in the midst of a heated moment.

Right now though, he was concerned mainly with trying to control his temper as he entered into the last set of double doors at the very end of the hallways. Flanked on both sides by two large suits of armor which gave the unsubtle impression of the door being guarded, the doors were made of a heavy mahogany imported from across the seas. The expense was not lost on Ïsa, and, as always, he thought about the other purposes the money could have been used for rather than this vanity.

Without knocking as was custom, the commander general twisted the golden handle on the door and let himself in.

The room that served the Chambers' purposes was not as grand as the ostentatiously extravagant hall that was theirs in the capital. Still, it was enough to make one think that this one room may have cost as much, if not more, than the rest of the facilities combined. A high, domed ceiling peaked overhead, two small crystal chandeliers dripping from their marble insets overhead. Windows facing the eastern training fields and the western woods were currently hidden beneath thick blue-and-gold tapestries, the colors repeating themselves in upholstered cushions, carpeting, stationary, and even the designated lapel pin of the Chamber members.

Six low podiums were situated in a semi-circle, facing the door. Behind them, and lining the southern wall were bookstands holding volumes of books on law and history – how long since any of them had last been opened, Ïsa didn't even bother to guess. Seated behind the podiums, in handsomely decorated and very plush-looking seats, were the six Chamber members. None of them younger than the age of fifty and none of them raised to do a bit of manual labor, most look very irritated at the inconvenience of being at the facilities on such a dreary day.

But it wasn't them that Ïsa was concerned with.

The President sat behind the most ornate podium, every bit of his sixty-two years showing on a round, apple-cheeked face with a white bushy mustache and grandfatherly beard. Dark brown eyes coolly surveyed Ïsa as he stepped into the very center and the blue-and-gold circular rug that lay within the semi-circle.

For a long moment, no one said anything. Three of the Chamber members quickly busied themselves by rearranging their papers on their desk, while two others looked to the president for some sort of signal to start the meeting. The last of the Chamber members looked altogether bored with the entire thing and was staring blankly in thought at the mural painted high on the northern wall.

"Wonderful weather we're having today," Ïsa finally stated, raising an eyebrow.

One of the Chamber members coughed.

The President bristled in annoyance. "Must you start off a crucial meeting with such triviality?"

"Well, everyone here seemed to be contented with letting the minutes pass by without anyone saying anything," replied Ïsa with an edge in his voice.

"Thank you very much for your concern," the Chamber member from the President's immediate right noted. Her silvery-white hair was pulled back so tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck that Ïsa was sure her eyes would fall out of her socket right then. "But we have more pressing issues at hand than starting this meeting on…childish terms."

The President smirked. Ïsa said nothing.

"Now, if I'm correct and do believe that I am," the lady murmured without glancing down at the papers in front of her, "there was a certain incident this past week that has required our attention."

"I thought it was ten days ago?" the youngest member of the Chambers quipped bitterly. Blue eyes glared at the elderly woman in derision. "It would therefore not constitute itself as a week."

"Details along those lines are unimportant," said the huge man sitting next to the woman, dark, furry eyebrows lowered in consternation. "Perhaps you should remember who has seniority here before stating the absurd."

Ïsa managed not to interrupt with a comment of his own, and stood as stoically still has before. The woman cleared her through to signal silence and then continued, "Whether the event was one week ago or ten days ago, it is important enough to draw our concern." She looked at her papers again. "According to the records, on the seventh day of September, one of the training brigades were sent on a scouting mission – under your orders – to do some field training in the Red Keep."

"That is true."

"By the twentieth hour, they still had not returned, even though training orders were for them to be back at the seventeenth hour."

"That is also true."

"When they did not return by the twenty-first hour, official records state that you sent a formal brigade to search for the lost party." She looked up from the papers, hoping to see any sign of nervousness in his eyes. When she evidently didn't find any, she continued with a slight frown, "The second brigade found nothing of the training brigade except their equipment and according to the senior officer, signs of a struggle."

"That is what he said," Ïsa replied, narrowing his eyes.

The President copied the expression, his hands folded in front of him in a false display on nonchalance. "On record, General, the training brigade left on time. However, there are many other witnesses that say the training brigade left forty-two minutes ahead of schedule."

"On record?" Ïsa replied evenly, the President's lack of 'commander' in front of 'general' not fazing him the slightest. "Well, if we're discussing records, I want you to notice that my training brigade is still missing. There is no record of them returning to these facilities. There is absolutely no reason for a brigade of twenty to entirely go missing with no reason whatsoever, and all that's left is their equipment." His eyes hardened. "Those records clearly show that twenty of my men are gone without a trace, and now we're standing here trying to find a scapegoat."

"Commander General, we are not trying to find a scapegoat!" the man with the furry eyebrows snapped. "We are just concerned over the unknown wellbeing of these men as much as you are."

"If not more, am I right?" asked the amber-eyed man with the barest hint of venom in his voice. "The reason why the Chamber of Affairs did not leave the investigation to this facility is because you know that the officer in charge of that training brigade was tied to foreign trade in the black market. And you permitted it."

A hush fell over the group, and looks of fury appeared on the faces of most of the Chamber members. But the most angered face of all was that of the President who jumped to his feet and pounded on the top of the podium with such force that the Chamber members closest to him visibly jumped. "How dare you! Are you accusing the Chambers of fraud!?"

"No. Of course not. I'm accusing you of having thorough and previous knowledge of illegal affairs concerning one of my senior officers, not alerting me to these affairs, and then busying yourself with pinning me as the scapegoat by rewriting those 'official' records."

Again, the infuriated hush.

Ïsa knew the rage was choking the words back from most of the Chamber members and it would only be seconds before things escaladed downhill. But rather than letting the argument stand, he turned an even glare to each and every member of the Chamber, hazel eyes burning with an inner flame. "Whether or not the disappearance is your fault, I have no proof. Just as you have no proof that I somehow managed to make my entire training brigade disappear off the face of the planet. But I do know that the cover-up is all your doing, and I do plan to mention it to the Union's High Chambers immediately."

The President was so livid with anger, he was looked nearly ready to physically explode. The other members of the Chambers are hurriedly whispering between themselves, glancing in Ïsa's direction every other moment or so with suspicious thinly veiled in their eyes.

_Well, this can only go so well from here_, Ïsa thought, studiously ignoring the looks being sent his way. _But after what they've done – those were my men. Even if they had nothing to do with why, they have something to do with the aftermath._ The thought of the Chamber's treachery only served to make his brow furrow in barely repressed frustration. He knew those twenty recruits in the training brigade, remembered every single one of their names.

This was unacceptable.

Unforgivable.

"Commander General," the President abruptly muttered, dark eyes turned to slits underneath his very white eyebrows, "your accusations against the Chambers are unfounded. If you tell the Union's High Chambers that we were in any way behind a cover-up concerning the missing training brigade, you could very well stand accountable for treason."

"You do well to consider this," the man with the thick eyebrows scowled. "And to recall that your position was granted to you by this Chambers. It can easily be taken away."

"So you're bribing me with my own position?" Ïsa asked casually, his jaw clenching slightly. "Allowing me to keep my title and my command as long as I don't go to the Union's High Chambers with this matter?" When no one responded, Ïsa narrowed his eyes. "You honestly think I would allow something like pride to dominate over what I think – what I know – is right?" The fury that had been a nagging feeling in the back of his head was beginning to unleash itself. "Twenty men are missing – one of them a lackey of yours, though I doubt you care about his well-being – and you want to keep this quiet?"

"According to official records-" the elderly woman stated through gritted teeth.

"I don't give a damn about those records!" Ïsa suddenly snapped. "I don't care about your protocol or your public image. I do care about having justice served. You are somehow linked to the disappearance of my men because of your foolhardy escapades, and you either dismiss it or blame it on me." His voice lowered to an almost indiscernible whisper. "That will _not_ happen."

For a few moments, no one said a word, so taken back they were by the harsh words spoken by the usually composed, often cheerful commander general. Even the President looked astonished at the fury behind the tirade. Hazel eyes burned like molten lava underneath dark lashes, and the look itself promised injury. The hidden threat in his last sentence did not go unnoticed by anyone in the room either.

Finally, the youngest of the Chamber members stood up, a frown on his features. Salt-and-pepper hair, which was still more salt than pepper, betrayed his age, though his face still appeared ten years younger than what it truly was. Quietly and self-assuredly he said, "I agree with you, Commander General. This will not happen. The legality of your senior's offices of fairs are certainly in doubt and are indeed connected with the Chamber of Affairs, just as you accuse. However, and no doubt you'll agree with me on this, the pressing issue at the moment is to find these missing men and bring them back to the security of our compound." His eyes narrowed. "Certainly, legal matters can be discussed afterwards."

Ïsa said nothing, but the simmering looking in his eyes promised that the matter would be discussed _very_ soon afterwards.

The President gave the youngest member of the Chambers a nod of approval before rising. "We will take care of this matter straight away. General, you have the permission of this Chambers to recruit a secondary search brigade to follow through with the search for your missing men. You may begin at the beginning of the next week-"

"No. Tonight."

The President took a deep breath, frowning. "We cannot gather all materials necessary for a search by-"

"The minute this meeting's over, I will assemble the secondary brigade. I won't wait another week for you to go through certain procedures." Ïsa's eyes flickered. "Unless you recall it took how long to call this meeting." _Though that was due to you trying to cover up anything I could discover about that senior officer._

The President gave the other members of the Chambers looks. One by one, they give stiff nods of approval, though none of them looked thrilled at the idea of the secondary search beginning already. Ïsa surmised that there were still loose ends that they needed to snatch out of his reach before the search began. Well, the more luck to them, because they would certainly need it.

"We grant you that permission," the President said, turning his attention back to the dark-haired general. "And when you doubt the generosity of this Chambers, recall what we've done for you in the past."

"I certainly will," Ïsa stated coldly, turning his back on the Chambers without the proper bow of leave. He strode towards the door and opened it before pausing. He turned to haphazardly glance over his shoulder, fixing the President with a brief glance.

"Because that will be the last of your favors."

xxx

Brant could tell Ïsa was in a bad mood. In fact, he would wager his weekly paycheck that this was probably one of Ïsa's more moody dispositions. The younger man hadn't said a word since after gathering eight other men to form a secondary search brigade, hadn't said a word to pick up transportation, hadn't said a word after having picked up the motor vehicle, and was ever the brooding mute on the way towards the far training fields.

Brant was starting to get irritated.

He looked out the window towards the near barren landscape. Radioactive testing twenty years prior had stripped the land of most its greenery, leaving only the most stalwart of evergreens and scraggly grass remaining. The government had managed to decontaminate the area and surrounding zones, but since people refused to inhabit the desolate area, it had become the perfect place for military training. A little more than five miles north of the government facilities, the Red Keep was isolated enough for training without (much) scrutiny.

It was a few weeks too late in the year and a few hours too late in the day to see how the training grounds at earned their name. In the spring and summer, the setting sun would turn the usually dry looking fields in a wilderness of reds and oranges and golds. Brant was disappointed.

After all, looking at the scenery may have been an improvement from Ïsa's sour attitude.

"Listen, I'm sure the meeting couldn't have gone that bad. The President allowed you to go on a secondary search mission."

"Ten days late."

"Well…I suppose it's the thought that counts."

Ïsa gave a small shrug of his shoulder as he took a right path along the road, and grimaced as he hit a pothole. "He is intent on pinning this entire thing on me. An entire training brigade, Brant. When have I ever been careless enough to lose an entire brigade?" Brant didn't say a word – after all, Ïsa's rank at his age was explanation enough. One didn't become a commander general because of carelessness. He was about to say so, but decided against it. Better to let him rant it out.

"The Chambers are allowing it, too, Ïsa. That action should speak for itself."

Ïsa gave a dark chuckle. "They just want me out of the facilities long enough to clear out any other information I could gather. I know the President is guilty, Brant. The moment I saw who was secretly endorsing the additional funds to that senior officer's account. Funds, which I might add, are not earned continuously over a six-month period."

Brant sighed. "You can't fix all the problems in the world, Ïsa. Fraud and government and cover-up and scandal – all those things sort of go hand-in-hand. If you take down the President by revealing all this, you might leave the Union in a nice little shamble." He looked over at his friend and noticed the determined look flashing in his eyes. "One enemy at a time, remember? You can only focus on the big picture if you notice all the small ones that make it in the first place." A small smile appeared on Ïsa's face – he did remember the quote from their commanding officer while in military training themselves. The officer had been a stickler for details and had imparted those words of wisdom into his students almost every day.

_One at a time, hmm_, he thought absently. _But which 'one' to start at?_

The silent ride continued for another twenty minutes, as the vehicle passed into the outskirts of the Red Keep. A cloud of grayish dust, turned an almost a pretty huge of blue from the moonlight, trailed behind them. The rain hadn't reached this far north it seemed. Ïsa had given instructions to the other members of the search brigade to head to the western and southern outskirts of the Red Keep. It would be he and Brant that would search around the area where the missing team's equipment had been found.

The jeep pulled into a small cluster of trees tucked away under a low incline. The incline blocked out a decent size portion of the moon's light, and the rest was quickly obscured by the lanky evergreens making up the cluster. Ïsa turned off the engine, but kept the headlights on, peering out into the relative darkness with a frown on his face.

"This could be dangerous."

"You realize that now?"

The two men jumped out of the jeep, landing in surprisingly soft turf, causing little whirlwinds of dirt to spring up around their boots. Brant looked around at their surroundings, and wished that they were anywhere but there at moment. After everything that had happened, Ïsa still wanted to come here and look for himself? Ridiculous.

The other man didn't seem to think along the same lines as his companion, and rather than look around at the foreboding surroundings, he began to head towards the top of the incline. Brant quickly retrieved the keys from the car, pitching them into near total darkness with the headlights extinguished. He followed Ïsa up in the incline and joined him in looking out over the flat expanse. "Well?"

"I've been thinking about it, Brant," the commander general murmured. "It's not unusual for some of the training brigades to come out this far, even to continue heading farther out. And nothing looks out of place." He looked frustrated. "Of course, with those original reports tampered with, I don't even know for sure what the first search brigade found when they came out here."

Brant chewed his bottom lip. "Maybe there was nothing to find?"

"Do you think that's true? An entire brigade disappears and there's nothing left?"

"There have been…stranger things."

Ïsa grunted a response, and turned around to head back down in the incline. His hazel eyes appeared to take a strange golden sheen in the moonlight as he glanced towards the remaining parts of the Red Keep. Just outside of the Red Keep lay the untouched forest from the days before the radiation experiments. The best way to avoid detection was to approach from the forest – its thick evergreens provided cover for almost anything. Approaching from the barren fields of the Red Keep would alert detection even from miles away.

_So they couldn't have gone back the way they came. The ocean is to the west and the Plains are to the east. The only option is through the forest which is…perfectly wonderful. Those forests take up nearly half of this side of the state._

While Ïsa contemplated the impossibility of the situation, Brant had returned the jeep and was currently digging through the trunk to find some sort of flashlight. The idea of searching with only the moon as a lamp may not have bothered Ïsa, but Brant still thought the entire search idea was pointless. He said so again before pulling himself up from the trunk, a large flashlight retrieved in his right hand.

Ïsa gave his friend a look as he grabbed his longcoat from the seat in the jeep. "Well, good thing we started so early." He left the older man to contemplate those words as he walked down the rest of the incline towards the beginnings of the forest. Brant gaped at him.

"You're not seriously going in there, are you?"

"What else did you expect me to do?"

"There is no way we could possibly-"

"The big picture, right, Brant?" Ïsa replied breezily. "The big picture points to this area. Details say the only way they could have disappeared would be through this forest." He gave a small shrug of one shoulder. "It may be ten days and I know those official reports have been tampered with, but I can't leave a detail like this overlooked."

Brant raced after him. "Be reasonable, Ïsa! Even if the missing brigade did end up in these woods, it would take us days to even find one hint! This forest takes up the entire northern half of the state!"

"Well, we'd better get started, don't you think?"

The two men – albeit one of them grudgingly reluctantly – ventured towards the bottom of the incline, where the first few trees of the forest stood. Unlike the evergreens of the Red Keep, these trees had rich, dark green pine needles and towered dozens of feet into the air. And the trees themselves weren't sparse – it seemed every few feet, a new growth would appear to block the path. Brant was not feeling very confident with his navigation skills at this moment. Sure, as a commander general, he had taken dozens of routes through the forest, but very few on foot, and of those, none at night.

Ïsa looked around at the looming shadows that were the trees, moonlight all but blocked out from the thickness of overhead pine needles intertwining in some unfathomable web. The look of concentration on his face made it appear as if he were trying to commit all of the scenery to memory. His long, confident strides in the darkness made Brant begin to wonder if Ïsa would even remember the way back to the jeep. Good thing he came along or else the two would be lost-

"Hey, Ïsa. You think they may have come in here and gotten lost?"

"No." Ïsa stepped over a fallen log. "There would have been no reason to come in here unless they were either forced in here or saw something out of the ordinary and decided to investigate. Training brigades just don't make up their own schedule." _Though considering who was in charge of that brigade, I wouldn't put past him…_

Five minutes later, and with Brant beginning to get even more nervous about their distance away from their vehicle, Ïsa rounded on yet another path, one that seemed to lead downhill. Brant could only map out distances so far…

"Is there a point to what we're doing?"

"How many times are you going to ask that?"

"As many times as I have to!"

"Please don't."

Brant was about to snap back a response when Ïsa suddenly halted in front him. Brant, who had been right on his heels, collided with his friend's back. Scowling at the sudden lack of movement, Brant rubbed his nose, and gestured wildly with the flashlight. "What?"

"Look."

Brant looked.

And wondered if the moonlight was really playing tricks on him.

In front of the two men there was a small clearing. Eight or nine trees had been felled, from the looks at the jagged stumps left behind. Pine needles and twisted branches littered the more-or-less circular clearing and allowed for very pale moonlight to flicker upon the destruction. Dark shadows littered the ground underneath the needles and branches, and, as Brant peered closer, so did numerous dark patches of what looked like…

His stomach churned, and he suddenly had the realization that this clearing had not been there ten days ago.

Ïsa stepped into the clearing, which couldn't have been more than twenty feet across. The moonlight played harshly across his features as he passed from one stump to another. The evaluation continued until he had completed his round, crouching next to the very last stump and reaching out to brush gloved fingers against the destroyed surface. The impassive look on his face slowly melted away – he suddenly looked very disturbed and concerned.

Rising to his feet, he turned to Brant, who had warily stepped into the clearing after him. "Those radioactive experiments, Brant. What do you know about them?"

"Um…" Brant looked down at the dark shadows underneath the needles, and realized in sort of blank shock that it was ripped clothing. From the color and texture, the torn cloth was definitely from training regimentals. "The basics and more. The government cleaned it up pretty good…"

"What about this surrounding forest? Do you remember how it was affected?"

Curiosity piqued by the sudden questions, Brant replied, "The Red Keep used to be part of this forest. The radioactive waves didn't reach this far into the forest, so it was basically normal compared to what happened in the Keep." He frowned. "Wrecked hell on the wildlife though."

"Then, what would you make of this?"

Brant cautiously made his way over to where Ïsa was pointing and looked down at the severed stump. Its roots were nearly pulled up from the ground and were grotesquely twisted around sharp branches and pine needles. Brant noticed the deep indentation marks surrounding the entirety of the stump, perfectly straight and managing to have ripped right through the bark.

"Sword? Knife, maybe?"

"In sets of three? And on all the stumps?" Ïsa shook his head. "Impossible. These are claw marks."

Brant started. "Claws? What animal is big enough, let alone strong enough, to destroy an entire clearing like this?" He gestured frantically. "And the men…" He trailed off, knowing very certainly what the dark spots on the ground were.

Ïsa took a deep breath, and crossed his arms, chewing his bottom lip in search of an explanation. "I don't know. But this worries me. Something out here destroyed this clearing – and my men with it. But that doesn't explain why they were all the way out here in the first place. This is far off the trail they usually take…" He stopped. "Unless they were chased."

Brant took a wary look around. "We should head back. The Chamber should hear about this. I don't think they have anything to do with something on this scale! This could be…" He shook his head, as if trying to clear whatever he about to say and turned to head back towards the path. It took him a moment or two before realizing that Ïsa wasn't following him. He turned back and saw his friend giving him a very suspicious look. "What? Ïsa, we need to go."

"Why would you suspect the Chamber of having anything to do with this?"

He looked startled. "Because you said-"

"I said that I suspected the President was trying to frame me by covering up his illegal mess. I never accused the Chamber of anything except stupidity." Ïsa watched as Brant paled a bit, and nodded inwardly, though the confirmation of his hypothesis made him cringe. _I trusted you, Brant._ "How much was it?"

"Ïsa-"

"How much?"

The other man fell quiet, and then reluctantly said, "Twenty thousand. Fifteen thousand to keep an eye on you, and another five thousand to keep my mouth shut." He lifted dark blue eyes to meet Ïsa's disappointed gaze. "I swear, I didn't know about the senior officer until two days ago. I just knew about the records."

"You knew they had been tampered with." It was a statement, not a question. Though Brant neither denied or admitted the accusation, Ïsa already knew the answer. "Well, I suppose it's like you said. Fraud and government go hand-in-hand. Coming out here was part of the plan – you just didn't expect to find this." He gestured to the carnage around him. Brant lowered his head and gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders.

"What do you want me to say? I didn't want to find something like this. I didn't want those men to get involved with the trade – but it had to happen."

"The trade? I thought you didn't know about the senior officer." Brant scowled. "Another lie, I guess." Ïsa rubbed the bridge of his nose, and wondered how in the world such a dark state of affairs had gotten even dire. _Being betrayed by a friend is not what I call a good night…_ "Alright, Brant. What happened in this clearing is not directly the government's fault. The reason why my brigade was out here is, though."

"You have no proof. The records…"

"Brant, you know me. If there's proof, I'll find a way to get it." He began to walk back towards the path. "But we had better leave now. We can discuss the meaning of perfidy on the way back." His tone had a sharp edge to it, and Brant, reluctant despite not wanting to get left behind, trailed his friend, wondering how well the Chamber would react to the news about Ïsa's revelation.

They would never find out.

No sooner had the two men left the clearing did _something _dart from out of the trees at breathtakingly fast speeds. The thing climbed up the closest tree to the men and then dropped down as quickly as it had climbed. Brant managed to look up just in time to look into very golden eyes before the creature fell onto his chest.

His muffled fall caught Ïsa's attention, and he spun to see the pale-haired commander general wrestling with something small and black. In the scuffle, Brant had dropped his flashlight which fell onto a mound of pine needles, and faced off into the depth of the woods. Brant managed to throw the creature off and scrambled to his feet. "What in the world-?"

The creature had hastily recovered its bearings and turned to face the two men again. The two pairs of golden eyes stood out against the darkness more than its body, and the sight of simply two eyes unnerved the younger of the two men. He thought with an inner curse about having left his gun back in the jeep, but he didn't have time to process the rest of that thought as the creature decided to take a leap at him.

Ïsa swept his arm out quickly and knocked the creature back. But the little shadow – was that it was? – had learned from its previous mistake, and had buried thick claws into the material of Ïsa's jacket. Shaking his arm furiously did nothing to dislodge the creature, so Ïsa resorted to slamming his arm towards a tree. The creature squealed in fury as its tiny body connected with the unrelenting trunk of an evergreen, dropping to the ground.

And then, quite promptly, melting into it.

Only Brant's shout of surprise kept him from thinking too much about the strangeness of the dark creatures. He spun around to see not one or two of the creatures facing the older general, but at least five, all of them identical and swarming around the unfortunate man with a ruthlessness that did not bode well for either men. Brant had learned quickly from the first attack, and was avoiding any sudden movements from the creatures.

_Impossible that these small things caused the destruction in that clearing, _Ïsa thought as he ran over to help the other general. Three of the creatures sank back into the ground while two of them made attempts to jump onto the two men again. Brant, who had recovered his flashlight somehow, swung hard, and connected with the head of one of the shadows, sending it flying into the other, knocking them both to the ground. Taking this as the opportunity, both men shared brief glances before breaking out into a dead run.

Ïsa considered himself to have a somewhat normal imagination, but these creatures that looked like no animal he had seen or even heard of stretched past the limits of what he was capable of imagining. He and Brant darted around the huge evergreens towards the path they had originally veered from, neither looking back.

It wasn't until six more of the creatures dropped from the trees overhead that Ïsa got the sinking feeling that they were surrounded.

Brant halted, nearly stumbling from his abrupt stop. "Where are they coming from?" he gasped, staring at the path that the six shadows had cut off. Ïsa grabbed his friend's arm and dragged him down the path.

"Keep running!"

Brant didn't need to be told twice.

The two burst from the edge of the forest, with ten shadows on their heels. Any ideas that creatures lived only in the darkness of the forest quickly evaporated in Ïsa's mind as moonlight flooded his vision. The jeep was only a few yards away. They only had to-

-his hand was suddenly grasping nothing.

He spun around to yell at Brant again for stopping, but the reprimand caught in his throat. He had turned just in time to see one of the creatures remove its claws that were sunk halfway through Brant's back. The pale-haired general's mouth was open in a wordless cry of surprise that would never be emitted. Ïsa watched, stunned, as a something clear and sparkling floated above the inky darkness spilling from the wound in Brant's back.

It was shaped like a heart.

"Brant!"

Blue eyes went dull and closed. A darkness surrounded the general, seeming to collapse in on itself, the shadows covering every limb. The shadows pulsated with a sickening last heartbeat, and when the man formerly known as Brant opened his eyes, they were now a clear pool of that golden-yellow.

He was gone.

The new Shadow reacted quickly, its claws outstretched. Ïsa didn't have time to react – everything had happened too soon – where was-

The claws fell.

Pain!

Ïsa's hand flew to his face, as blood gushed between his fingers. A last minute jerk of instinct had prevented the creature from scratching his eyes out, but – Ïsa staggered to his feet, trying to ignore the blinding sting. That creature…it couldn't be…

From the corner of his eye, through the blood, he saw the creatures dive in on him. The moonlight reflected off their black hides, and he was faintly aware that he was surrounded. But the thought that was echoing through his mind wasn't of his welfare – _but what had happened to his men? _

_To Brant…? _

Amber eyes narrowed in anger at the question and then inevitable answer.

Gone.

That cold fury against the senselessness of the events that led to their demise washed over him. Pointless political games. These were _his_ men, under his charge, and now…and now…

He never noticed the flashes of silver lights erupt around him, and the shadows convulse violently in pain. He never noticed the last of the Shadows, in desperation, scramble behind him and raise its claws…and down…never felt the pain…never saw the darkness destroyed in the moonlight…never-

xxx

He opened his eyes.

"You've got some deep grudges against this place, don't you?" the man next to him asked, hand on one hip as he stared across the room. "Home sweet home, huh?"

"No."

He snorted, a smirk forming on his features. "And so sentimental about it, too." He looked at the corpse lying on the floor of the extravagantly decorated room, unfazed by the dark pool of blood spreading from the man's throat. "He could've made a good Heartless. But, no. Mr. Doom-and-Gloom has his own personal agenda. The Superior isn't gonna be too happy about this one."

Golden eyes narrowed. "You didn't have to come, Xigbar."

"Yeah, I did. Seniority and all." The older man shrugged. "Not that _he_ cares especially with the new kid and all." He opened a portal of darkness behind him. "Speaking of which…"

He nodded and turned to follow. Just before he stepped through the shadowy dark, he briefly turned to glance at the pale, round face of the President which had only minutes earlier shown shock and then fear when he had stepped through the heavy mahogany doors. The minor changes to his appearance had not thrown him. But he had warned him the last time they had met.

The last of his favors had indeed been the end of any favors.

Grimly satisfied, Saïx followed his comrade into the darkness.

xxx

_Author's Note_ (19 Dec 06): My goodness, I didn't expect the story to get that long. And that's just for one of the Organization's Others. What can I say? The idea of Saïx being a general in his other life was too good to pass up – after all, hasn't anyone else wondered why Saïx is treated like the second-in-command more than Xigbar?

Well, we all know who's next – Number Eight, Axel. And the ideas I have in store for his Other's story might make you…well, be pleasantly surprised?

The song used for the title of last chapter was "The Point of No Return" from Andrew Lloyd Webber's _Phantom of the Opera_.

- Nashie


	3. The Power of One Human Being

_**Somebody, Somewhere, Someday**_

_Chapter 2: "The Power of One Human Being"_

Written by Samurai-Nashie

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts is owned by Square-Enix and Disney respectively. This is a non-profit literary work written for entertainment purposes, and I have no legal claim to any of the characters used in this fanfiction.

xxx

He was currently running

Running late, that is.

He sprinted down the crowded hallways as other college students shouted in annoyance as he shoved past them. He took no heed, nearly flying down two flights of stairs in attempts to make himself a semblance of being on time. His shoulder bag banged away at his right hip as he skidded around a corner (nearly making one of the younger professors drop all of her paperwork in doing so), shouted an apology, and then continued at breakneck speeds down the hallway.

_Why_, he thought furiously as he passed by the huge sculpture that marked the entrance into the arts building, _someone tell me why in the world they made this campus so huge_!?

Pausing only long enough to pass through the doorway to his classroom, he ran down the long, long, long aisle to the front of the room, where the rest of his class waited, already in deep discussion with their instructor. Some students lifted their heads as ways of greeting while the instructor, a tall, dark man with a shaved head, raised an eyebrow at his late arrival. "Again?"

"Not my fault," came the grumbled response. The instructor didn't look at all convinced with this answer, and only raised his brow slightly higher. "It's the truth! Stupid campus is too big…"

The instructor shook his head with a long-suffering sigh, though the slight smile on his face belied the seriousness of it. "Let's try to cut back on the tardiness, Lea. Especially considering that tonight is opening night." Lea made a face at him and groaned before moving to join the rest of the class on the lip of the stage. A girl closest to stage left waved at him and he walked over to sit next to her.

"Y'know," she whispered with a wide grin as he flipped his bag open to search for his folder, "you might as well join the cross-country team with all that sprinting you're doing around campus." He rolled his eyes, and she giggled. "Not what you're used to, huh? Thought you would've gotten used to it by now." She immediately laid herself out on her stomach, pink and blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. "Big campus, little Lyric. Oh, my."

Lea winced at the nickname, as he usually did. "Sounds like a really bad emo-college rock song."

"Too bad you're no singer." Lea turned to where a young man was sitting lotus-position behind him. Dirty blonde hair that looked as if it hadn't been cut in a very long time fell into ocean-blue eyes that peered up at him over his own folder. Lea was unable to see the grin that was undeniably there, and scowled, throwing an eraser at the other student. The young man ducked, still holding the folder up to his face. "C'mon, Lea. You can't carry a tune in a bucket."

"Shut up, Zeke."

"Hey, London – remember that night at karaoke…?"

"Shut _up_, Zeke."

"Best rendition of "Proud Mary" if I ever heard one…"

"Zeke!!"

"Ahem."

The three students looked up and saw their instructor glaring at them, his arms crossed. The trio muttered an assortment of apologies before turning back to the scripts in their hands. The tall man looked pleased enough by their silence, and continued with his speech, pacing back and forth and gesturing with his hands in a flurry of vivid movements. Lea watched with disinterested passion as the man calmly offered his last-minute "don't forget your lines and get plenty of rest" speech before their play opened that night. Along with a term paper (Lea had been irritated when he found out that he had to write a term paper for his _theatre _class), the class had been asked, along with three or four other advanced theatre classes, to put on a play for the spring arts competition.

_That _had led to an interesting conversation – argument was more like it – in class. One of the classes had already laid claim to a play by Neil Simon, while another had snatched Henrik Ibsen's _Hedda Gabler_. And with two Shakespeare plays already taken, their class, still in the midst of arguing, were running low on popular options. Finally, Lea, still new to the class (and to the college, in general), had reluctantly suggested "The Awakening of Spring".

The class had erupted in enthusiasm.

Lea later thought that it was probably due to the fact that play was primarily about sex.

He had been paired with Zeke and London, completing the trio of protagonists of the story. Zeke, he had discovered, was no traditional theatre prodigy. The two had butted heads for the first two weeks – Zeke was into musical theatre, Lea had been raised around the Shakespearian aspect (thanks to a father who still enjoyed reminding his son that he had been cast as Hamlet, Oberon, and Romeo all in the same year). London had put up with both of them with something similar to saint-like patience until the two finally found a common ground – as it turned out, both of them were suckers for film noir and old-school comic books.

The three had become fast friends, a chemistry that the instructor had laughingly called "uncommon". Of course, that friendship meant they were privy to knowledge otherwise unknown to the other students in the class – namely London's collection of various hair care sets in her dorm room (her current hair colors were the product of a night of experimentation gone very wrong), Zeke's obsession with Long Island ice teas (and his unconventional habit of getting drunk at all the wrong times), and Lea's very, very bad singing voice (known to make little children cry at times).

Lea looked over the script, and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he gazed over the highlighted parts – his parts. A perfectionist if there ever was one, he tweaked his role up until the curtain rose on the first scene. Notes were scribbled in the margin in near-illegible handwriting – except where London had added her helpful little remarks, complete with smiling skull-and-crossbones and shooting stars.

She was currently writing something on her own papers, a look of concentration on her face. Glancing up to make sure the instructor wasn't looking, she passed the folder between Lea and Zeke and gestured to a note she had made. The two looked over it and then shared looks – London had written in her flowery handwriting, _Don't I make a sexy Wendla? XXXXOOOO!!!!_

"Shouldn't you be paying attention?" Zeke asked with a grin that was still hidden behind his own folder.

"Oooh…you know it's true!"

Lea snickered.

"Ahem."

The three of them muttered more apologies and shut up again.

Twenty minutes later, the class had separated into different sections of the theatre. With opening night only hours away and their last dress rehearsal performed nearly-perfectly the day before, their instructor had given them the class "off" – in other words, they were still stuck in the theatre for the next two hours, doing nothing. London, Zeke, and Lea had clamored to their spot on the catwalk high above the stage, thirty feet above the rigging station. It was dark except for the light emitted by the dim work lights a few feet below, so they couldn't really read their scripts. Still, it made for an excellent personal hangout.

"So who did you steal the stage keys from this time?" Zeke asked from where he was precariously perched on the catwalk railing. Any sudden backwards movement would send him hurtling to the stage below, but the idea didn't seem to frighten him. London grinned.

"Rodeo lent them to me. As long as I didn't light anything on fire, I'm free to use the stage whenever because I'm such a cool actress."

"Must not have known Lea was coming with you."

"Y'know, Zeke, you have this problem of not forgetting things…"

"Gentlemen!" London interrupted before an argument could break out. "No need to fight. We all need to be in high spirits for tonight. Opening night is crucial – remember? Especially since we're obviously going to be the best class of the night." She opened her doodle-covered backpack and pulled out a compact mirror, examining herself with all the carelessness of a make-up artist. "All thanks to Lea."

Lea rolled his eyes, and then ran his hand through spiky brown locks. "Right. I'm dead by the second act, remember? I can't be much help." He glanced at Zeke, who had developed a not-quite-sinister smirk on his face. "Are you going to rub it in again?" The only response was an even wider grin, and Lea threw yet another pencil eraser at him. The blonde ducked and the eraser went hurtling over the rail and onto the stage dozens of feet below.

They all listened for the telltale thud, and, when they finally heard it, continued the rest of their conversation. "Well, we can both be dead together," London quipped with a wink. Zeke sent a sly look over his shoulder.

"Except he dies a virgin."

"Art imitating life, as they say."

"Hey!"

London and Zeke both shared looks and laughed. Lea tried to look adequately insulted, but failed and laughed at the now months-old joke.

Having embarrassed Lea sufficiently enough for the day, Zeke turned to London and immediately launched into a conversation of what in the world she was going to do with her hair. London's response was lost on Lea as she began explaining some sort of new hair dye she had. He began to search through his backpack for his cell phone – unlike the rest of his friends, his phone was not permanently attached to his body and often had to be found in the wasteland known as his shoulder pack.

"And that's how I'm going to become a beautiful brunette in three hours or less!" London finished. Zeke looked adequately confused, and managed to nod his head. London looked at her currently pink-and-blonde braids and began to pick at the ends of one of them. "Though I always pictured Wendla as a redhead." She grinned. "Like Moritz!"

"I'm not dyeing my hair," Lea muttered distractedly, as he was now engrossed in a game of Tetris on his phone. "Last time you tried to dye it red, it turned out reddish-orange. I looked like Tigger for an entire week. And no, Zeke. You're not laying your hands on my hair either."

The two other students were quiet. Then, "God, you're antsy today. Must be pre-opening night jitters."

"Right. That must be it." When knowing silence met this response, Lea put his game on pause and looked up at the slightly concerned looks he was getting. "It's a competition, right? Which means there are going to be critics in the audience. It's like the miniature Tony Awards here. As if trying to pass the class wasn't hard enough…"

Again, the silence. Lea furrowed his brows. "Okay, I'm not worried about the critics. Hell, they can think whatever they want about our play. But I'm not gonna be happy if they don't like it. Seeing that it was my idea."

"So you think that if we suck, we're all going to blame you," Zeke asked, trying and failing to keep the awed tone out of his voice. "Do my ears deceive me, or did Lea Russo-Claremont just pretty much say that he's afraid of what we're going to think of him after this is over?"

"I didn't say–"

"I think he did, Zeke." London grinned and leaned over on all fours so that her face was inches from Lea's. "You know what this means, Lyric?"

"No, but I really don't want–"

"Group hug!"

Lea groaned, but the sound was drowned out as the two blonde pounced on him.

xxx

The hospital was already bustling by the time Lea arrived an hour and a half later. As the biggest and most reputable hospital in the city, it was always busy, but never crowded, to which Lea was eternally grateful. He hated hospitals, how everything seemed so nice and perfect yet behind each and every one of those rooms…he didn't like to think about it.

He tugged at the strap of his bag as he approached the front desk. The lady sitting behind it was examining the computer screen in front of her as if it were some sort of lifeline. He cleared his throat, and she looked up, blinking. After a moment of being startled, a slow smile appeared on her face. "Lea. How are you today? You're here early."

"Opening night tonight. I couldn't come any later and I just wanted to see how he was doing." The receptionist nodded and gestured towards the elevators. "Thanks a lot."

"Break a leg, sweetie!"

As much as Lea liked the receptionist, he hated being called that. He gave an embarrassed shrug and continued towards the elevators. He hadn't really even needed to stop at the desk. He had been here often enough in the past month to know exactly what floor he needed to go to, what room the patient was in, and when it was a good time of day to visit. Most of the staff who worked in this wing of the hospital already knew him, since he came at least every other day when his classes permitted.

He rode the elevator to the fourth floor, stepped out, passing the fourth floor waiting area, and down a hallway that was mildly crowded with a few stretchers, a rolling tray of various medicines, and a handful of nurses. He walked pass three rooms until he reached his destination. He didn't even bother to knock as he entered into the room.

The hospital room was currently only occupied by one person, a middle-aged man who was flipping through the channels on the suspended television. He looked up as Lea stepped into the room and a wide grin spread across his face. "What a surprise! You're here early."

"Emily said the same thing," Lea said with a smirk, swinging his bag into an empty chair and walking around the bed to give the man a back-thumping hug. "Good to see you, Dad. How has today been? Dr. Rosenstein been somewhat predictable or did he pull one his pranks?" The older man snorted, muting the television and reaching over to place the remote down on the bedside table.

"It's been good today," he said as he sat up in his bed. "Fun, even. I've got a new nurse, and it's amusing teaching her the ropes." By the slightly evil glint in his father's eyes, Lea got the meaning behind the words.

"You mean you've been pushing your buzzer every thirty minutes for the hell of it," Lea said as he walked back to the other side of the bed, trying to ignore the IVs and the heart monitor that were somehow connected with the man lying on the bed. He pulled his chair alongside the bed. "She's gonna hate you and then put baby food in your IV."

Lea's father chuckled. "It won't hurt. Everybody needs spinach and peaches in their diet somehow." He turned towards his son, an amused look in his eyes. "Your mom was in earlier today. She didn't bring the DVD player, of course. Said that _Jeopardy_ was better than _Die Hard_. We argued about that for awhile."

"Marlene didn't come?" Lea asked nonchalantly, though he couldn't mask the slightly annoyed tone his voice took. When his dad shook his head, the brunette turned away.

"Lea, you know it's hard for her to see me in here," the man said. "I told her she didn't have to come."

Lea said nothing. Instead, he shifted his gaze to the pantomime on television. His father didn't continue his line of thought, knowing full and well that the subject was still touchy. The two sat quietly next to each other for the next ten minutes, watching the endless amount of commercials and the judge show currently occupying the television.

Finally, with the noiseless gestures proving too tiring to keep up with, the older man turned to his son and cheerfully asked, "So, opening night is tonight. Are you ready for it? Or are the nerves too much once you realize your great old dad isn't going to be there rooting you on? Come here to get some last minute advice?"

There was a moment of surprise at the broken silence, and then Lea smirked, though it was lacking the intensity that usually held it up. "How could I possibly have done well when a great performer would have been sitting in the front row, reminiscing about his days as King Lear and Oedipus during my monologues?" They both laughed at the image that presented. Lea shook his head and looked up at the muted television. "It's gonna be good. London is dyeing her hair brown for the part. Zeke finally got his car out of the shop – he's picking me up after this."

"Old Rustbucket is out of the shop? Impressive." Before Lea could continue his update about the other cast members, his father held up a hand to stop him. "But what about you, son? Are you ready for this? I know it's not a professional performance, but it is a big step nonetheless. Not a lot of people get the role of a main character in their first semester at a new college."

"I know I'm good – I've got nothing to be nervous about," balked Lea with an easy grin on his face. But the smile slowly faded as he shook his head. "Well, a little nervous, I guess. It's important, right? Like you said…for me." Then, quieter, "And I wanted _you_ to be there."

Silence reigned the room for a couple of seconds, interrupted only by the steady beat of the heart monitor. Then, a low, resigned sigh escaped from the older man's mouth and he lay back against the pillows of his bed. "I know. I wanted to see you there too. But you know that I have to stay here. If I could, I would pick up all this equipment and take it with me and take up four seats in the front row to see you. But…" He trailed off with a smile on his face. "But, I also know that if I'm there or not, you're going to blow people out of the water. You're a great actor. Better than me probably. Lousy at memorizing your lines, though."

"Seriously, Dad. It's not the same."

"Seriously, Lea – it is." The father turned to face his son with a very stern look on his face, belied by the compassion in his jade green eyes, the same eyes as the young man who sat next to him. "Because it doesn't matter whether I'm there or not. Even if you think you do better when I'm there, it's not true. You've got this amazingly raw potential. And you have that crazy hotheaded energy to back it up with. That comes across no matter what part you play. That's what makes you unique. That's what made the college want you. I was in that business for years, and people like you come once in a blue moon. And, no, I'm not saying that because I'm your dad."

Lea glared at him.

"Okay, maybe a _little_ bit." His dad grinned. "It doesn't matter what I say anyway. The stage is made for you – you already have a stage name." A groan from his son, and the man laughed. "You know it's true. Though, if you had been a girl, you wouldn't have been a great actor. You would have been–"

"A great actress, I know." Lea ran his long fingers through his hair. "I swear, do you have these long esteem-boosting speeches under your bed or something? Because you always know the right thing to say."

"Nah, I just speak from my heart," came the reply.

"Now that's just corny, Dad."

"Most genuine things are."

The two shared a smile before Lea snatched up the remote and turned the sound back on. He gave his father a challenging grin. "Hey, look. It's Jeopardy. Ten bucks I win."

"Ten bucks you lose. I've got the experience. A month in here and I have possibly the greatest amount of useless trivia stored in my head. Next to a couple of sonnets."

"You are _so_ on."

Half an hour later, and with ten bucks begrudgingly lost, Lea stood up, stretching his long legs. His father watched him with an air of curiosity. The younger man crossed his arms and gave his father a genuine smile. "I have to be back at the theatre in forty minutes. I have to go become Moritz."

"You still hate the costume."

"I have to wear my glasses. I hate wearing those things. Make me look way too emo." He slung his bag over his shoulder. "Zeke should be out front waiting for me. And since his car is a moving fire hazard, I should get out there before the fire department comes and halls him away." He leaned down for the traditional hug that marked the beginning and end of his visit. "I hate leaving like this."

His father smiled, pulling him into a warm hug. "I won't blame you for it. You came, and that's what matters." He winked as his son pulled back up. "Besides, your mom's recording the entire thing. I'll critique on the finer points when you come visit next time."

Lea chuckled. "Not that you'll be able to find anything wrong with perfection."

"Ah, the modesty! It attacks with a vengeance," his father yelped. Then, with a sly laugh of his own, "As long as you don't forget your lines…"

"I told you yesterday – I've got them memorized. Geez…"

"Just checking." A wave. "Break a leg, Lea."

Lea returned the wave, and strode out of the room. The nurses and receptionists at the fourth floor lobby area called out their good-byes as he passed them on his way to the elevator. He managed to catch an empty one before the doors shut, and he stepped into it. As soon as the doors closed, Lea closed his eyes, a pained expression coming upon his face. Almost every day he visited. Almost every day he stayed for hours on end to spend with his father, to tease him, to trade stories with him, to watch _Jeopardy_ with him, just to spend time with him.

And every day, he watched as the strongest man he ever knew slowly succumbed to a cancer that would soon snatch him out of his son's life.

xxx

Backstage was chaos.

Which was why Lea and Zeke had avoided it and dove into the nearest unoccupied dressing room that they could find. Sure, everything may have seemed to be orderly and on schedule out in the audience and in the other sections of the campus boasting their own spring arts exhibitions, but backstage clearly defied whatever law of decorum that the rest of the campus followed.

There would be two performances tonight. One would be delivered by the upper classmen – a modern telling of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream" And the other would be "The Awakening of Spring" Lea thought that the person who wrote the programs had a very…diverse sense of humor, throwing a romantic comedy at the audience first, followed by a tragedy. What a wonderful way for the judges to be completely confused.

Either way, the two had managed to secure a dressing room. Lea looked at the glasses that were the bane of his existence and debated whether or not just to defy his instructor and just wear his contacts on stage. His very strong rebellious side cheered him on, but his theatrical persona knew that the glasses kept him in character.

Zeke looked at him from where he sat in front of a mirror, making faces at it. "Looks like you're having a dilemma over there, Lyric. Why don't you just put on the rest of your costume and decide about the glasses then?" His messy blonde hair had been combed back, so only a few wayward strands escaped a brushed against his brow. Despite his advice, even he hadn't changed into his costume yet. The dark blue school uniform still lay slung over the chair sitting next to him.

"Because these glasses are evil, that's why," Lea muttered. He glanced at his watch. "Have you heard from London yet?"

"Got a text message. Said she just left home and can't wait to show off her hair."

"It better be brown or some version of it. Or the director is going to have her head." Lea finally decided that maybe he should just put on the costume first before putting on his glasses and glanced at the school uniform in front of him. "You know, sometimes I wondered why I suggested this play."

"Because it's controversial. It's powerful. It's passionate." When Lea rolled his eyes, Zeke snickered. "Okay, it's about sex. And that's why it's controversial, powerful, and passionate. Happy?"

"We're playing teenagers. In uniforms."

"Please, Lea. You just turned twenty two months ago." Zeke stood up and began to shrug into his white dress shirt. "And it's a tad bit late to be complaining about it. The first play has already started. We perform in less than two hours."

Before he could say any more to convince him otherwise, there was a firm knock on the door. Lea rushed over to grab it, playfully knocking Zeke back into his seat. The blonde let out an annoyed squawk as the taller young man opened the door, revealing their instructor. The man was dressed professionally, as was typical for the director on opening night. He gave the two young actors a grin. "Good to see you managed to snatch a dressing room. I told them having two performances in one night was going to be a headache."

Lea gave him a careless shrug. "Well, even if we hadn't found one, we would have been fine. After all, as actors, improvisation saves our sorry butts thousands of times on stage."

Their instructor laughed. "True. But I actually came to ask, have you two seen London? I want to make sure her hair is a suitable color before she runs out on stage."

"She said she was dyeing it brown. Hopefully, nothing exploded in her sink this time."

"This time?" the instructor looked mildly curious. Zeke and Lea shared looks before laughing.

"Don't ask," Zeke said with a small half-smile. "Let's just say it involved a blow dryer, some Skittles, and one very angry, very wet tabby cat named Fluffer."

"That is still the dumbest name for a cat ever," Lea added.

"You're right," their teacher murmured beneath his breath. "I feel better not asking. Hey, but when she shows up, just send her out to me so I can decide whether to wish her a good show or strangle her for dyeing her hair blue. This is 19th century Germany after all."

When the man left, Lea turned to Zeke. "You better text her and warn her. If her hair's actually blue…" Zeke sniggered, and pulled out his cell phone, preparing to send the warning message. A frown suddenly appeared on his face. "Hey. What's up?"

"It's from London…" the blonde murmured distractedly. He suddenly cursed loudly and jumped to his feet. Lea raised an eyebrow in surprise. The smaller young man had grabbed his costume, threw it on a hanger and quickly hung it up on an available hook on the wall. Then, he snatched his jacket and wallet and began to head for the door.

"So, are you going to tell me what the sudden rush is about?" Lea demanded. Zeke blinked.

"Right," he said slowly, and then nodded. "London's car died. She forgot to check her engine – like I told her last week – and now it's coming back to haunt her. And no – she's not near a gas station. You know how London is about mechanics."

"You mean," noted Lea dryly, "that if she can't do it herself – which she probably can't – then she won't let anyone else do it either?"

"Bingo."

Lea sighed, and grabbed his sweatshirt from a nearby chair, slipping it on over his t-shirt. "Well, since you know as much about mechanics as she does, it looks like I'm your wing man." He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "How far away is she?"

Zeke opened the door and headed out into the crowded hallways of the backstage wings. "Just off the intersection. Around a mile away from her house. It should take us fifteen minutes." Lea nodded, and the two passed through the still-crowded corridor, out a side exit, and headed towards the parking lot, which was already full with patrons' and students' car. They weaved in and out of parked cars until they reached the far end of the lot, where Zeke's small black Sudan was parked. True to its loving nickname, it looked as if the car had been through five different equally dangerous war zones, been used a crash test car, and then was ultimately dumped in the nearby lake just for the hell of it.

Lea never said a word about the condition of the car – after all, he didn't have one himself. He had had a motorcycle, thoughtfully given to him by his father. But after the Flaming Motorcycle of Doom incident a few months ago, his license had been suspended for a year and the motorcycle still had yet to be fished out of the pond Lea had (accidentally) drove it into.

His father had laughed when he heard the incident. Marlene had been less than thrilled, calling him irresponsible and careless and did he know what kind of damage he could have cost? Lea had been ready to tell the older woman off, but his father had interceded, reminding his wife that no one had been injured, Lea himself was unhurt, and that the offending motorcycle was lying at the bottom of pond in the local park.

Still…

"This is probably the lousiest car on the face of the planet," Lea commented, as the engine sputtered, coughed, and eventually roared to life. Zeke smirked, attempting to adjust his duct-taped rearview mirror. "Honestly, it would save you a lot of money if you just went and bought a new one."

"Same old argument, Lyric," the blonde teased, as he backed out of the parking space and began to drive towards the exit. "Rustbucket has stuck with me through thick and thin. And it has nine lives. I think it's on its fifth right now…"

"Sixth. The road trip incident counts."

"Okay. Fine. Sixth life." Zeke turned up the volume of the radio – one of the few things that still worked somewhat decently in his car – and turned out onto the road. "We better get there fast or we are so going to be dead."

The college, as most colleges were, was still bustling, even though it was still early Friday evening. The streets were still mostly crowded around the school, but Zeke already knew the shortcuts as if he had lived in the area his entire life. Of course, most of the areas he went through here off limits or one way streets or alleyways. But somehow, the young actor managed to avoid the streetlights and the other cars and the college pedestrians. The police, Zeke bragged, had only caught him twice.

"You're not taking the highway?" Lea asked as Zeke zoomed past the onramp.

The blonde shook his head. "Rush hour. It'll take around ten more minutes, but at least this way, I know we won't get caught in traffic. I hate using the freeway this time of day. Lousy drivers."

Lea attempted to roll down his window so some balmy spring air would circulate through the car, but found that the handle to roll the window down was missing. He gave Zeke an exasperated look, and the other student chuckled. "It broke," he said by way of an explanation.

The car continued to speed down the side streets of downtown, following along the same path as the highway for a mile before Zeke took a turn east towards the outskirts of the city's suburbs. Lea watched as the sparse orange city lights began to flicker in the rosy violet twilight. He hated driving through the edge of the suburbs, which bordered along the park (yes, the exact same park where his motorcycle still lay submerged). Too dark at night, thanks to the few-and-far-between city lights. And there were no sidewalks, so people who walked their dogs in the evening were near impossible to see, since very few realized they had to wear bright clothes.

Lea blinked as Zeke thrust his cell phone at him. "Here. Call London again. Tell her we're around five or ten minutes away."

"Why do I have to do it?"

"Oh, come on, Lea. Just do it."

The brunette sighed, and rapidly dialed London's phone number into the keypad. The phone rang a few times before there was a click, and London's familiar girlish lilt answered. "Yup?"

"Hey, London. It's Lea. We're around five or ten minutes away. Zeke didn't want to take the highway. Rush hour, and everything."

"My heroes," came the deadpanned response. Then, with much more amusement, "Well, at least we'll all make a spectacularly grand entrance. Unless Rustbucket dies and joins my car in car heaven."

"Please. Your cars are both crappy enough to be in hell."

"No. That's where flaming motorcycles are sent, Lyric."

"Oh, ha, ha. Very funny. We'll be there soon."

"Okay. See you guys."

Lea hung up and tossed the phone into Zeke's lap. "She's still alive."

Zeke gave a cheerful nod of the head, and pulled around the corner. This curvy street was probably darkest at night – no streetlights at all. The north side of the street was all suburbia, but the south side gave way to the steep hill which led to the park. Not exactly the most cheerful, safe place to be at night. But, Lea had to admit, that the view was probably breathtaking in the fall.

Lea drummed his fingers against the dashboard in rhythm to the song that blasted from the speakers in the back (the ones in the front were broken). He was so busy concentrating on remembering the lyrics to a song he hadn't heard since middle school that he didn't hear Zeke curse quietly under his breath.

He did notice the weaving headlights ahead of them, and he frowned as Zeke slowed the car down. "A little early to be drunk, don't you think?"

Zeke said nothing, but watched in annoyance as the car sped down the road at dangerous speeds, its horn blaring. Lea noticed some of the curtains in the front portion of people's houses move as curious (and annoyed) faces looked out to see what all the ruckus was about. Zeke pulled the car over to the north side of the street, waiting patiently for the car to drive past. "Idiots – turn off your stupid brights," he mumbled.

Lea was about to heartily agree when the car suddenly veered sharply to its left. In those brief seconds, he saw a terrified face above those blinding headlights. And then, vaguely, he saw…a moving shadow…with eyes…what in the world…

Then, the white light that filled his vision became painful, loud, burning red and other colors and other noises and movement far too quick too soon too jarring and it hurt and it was loud and did someone call his name and there was a feeling of weightlessness, biting, stomach-churning weightlessness…then, pain, the colors mixing again and again and then stopping and then…there was summer green…and then a quiet darkness…

But it still hurt like hell.

He stared blindly at the darkness. His mind – numb from shock – vaguely recalled that one could not see blindly, and he tried to open his eyes. There was the red again. Blinked. The red cleared into that summer green. No…not summer green. Spring green. And dirt. It was grass. He was lying on grass. A part of his mind dimly joked about the pointlessness of seatbelts while another part of his mind wondered how grass had gotten inside Rustbucket.

He didn't want to think about it.

He slowly began to shift his limbs, praying that most (if not all) would still be attached to his body. He let out a slow sigh of relief when he found he was able to move his appendages. Of course, from the red that had clouded his vision earlier, he surmised that he was probably bleeding and most likely had a concussion because the mere idea of sitting up make him nauseous.

He lay flat on the ground, looking at the very green grass. Then, after a few moments of lying completely still, he managed to roll over onto his back. It hurt. Not as much as the pain before. But it still made him bite his lower lip, holding back a cry. He could now see the violet sky…but late twilight did not burn.

Burn.

Where was Zeke?

He began to sit up, the effort taking more energy out him than he would have suspected. His world spun for a few moments, and Lea had to shut his eyes against the headache that threatened to split his skull open. When he opened them again, he managed to peer across the spring green to where twilight was burning.

The two cars sat in a tangled mess dozens of yards to his left and further down the hill. The car that had hit them lay on its side between two trees, its rear end lying on the engine of the other car. He saw someone attempting to crawl from the wreckage, but their hair…it was not that dark blonde that he knew. And the face older…feminine…not Zeke.

The other car sat upright, and Lea hid a wince when he saw the caved in mess that was the passenger side. _I got out of _that, he thought numbly as he staggered to his feet. A little uneasy, but at least he could walk. Smoke poured from the engines of both cars. Lea may have been a little disoriented, but his brain still functioned enough to know that where there was smoke, there most likely would be fire. And when fire was anywhere near gas…

Not good.

He raced over to the Rustbucket's driver's side. The back window and the windshield had been completely shattered, littering the front and back seats. The driver's door hung limply off its remaining hinges, and with a half-hearted kick from Lea, it fell off. Zeke still sat in his seat, but he was hunched lifelessly over the steering wheel. There was a nasty looking gash at his left temple, and, from the looks of it, Lea noted that it probably wasn't his only injury.

It had been a few years since he had taken a driver's education course. And he knew that it was hazardous to move anyone who may have spinal injuries. But he saw the smoke. He saw that the back end of the other car was huddled precariously above that rising smoke.

It wasn't a hard decision.

He released the seatbelt, and then, with as much hurried caution as he dared have, he threw one of Zeke's arms over his shoulder and pulled him from the vehicle. His friend was still alarmingly limp, and Lea tried to ignore the sinking feeling that began to rise in the pit of his stomach. He pulled the blonde away from the wreckage, as far as he deemed safe.

"Hey!" Lea looked up. Three people were hurrying down the hill – probably homeowners who had seen the accident. He vaguely noticed more people edging around the top of the hill, looking at the accident in stunned disbelief. One of the trio, a middle-aged, muscular man, was in the lead as he jogged towards them. "We called the police! Are you alright?" Lea knelt next to Zeke, his eyes dark.

"I'm fine…but my friend…" The woman in the group pushed past the man and knelt down next the blonde. "He was still in the car…"

"He's breathing."

Lea let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. Then, he turned back to head towards the wreckage. When the man from before shouted out in warning, Lea didn't even turn back, "There's a lady – the one driving the other car." Without waiting for another warning, Lea rushed towards back towards the accident.

The smoke was thick now, and Lea's eyes and throat stung the moment he came within a few yards of the poisonous gases. He tried to remember where he had seen the lady…near the two trees, trying to crawl away from vehicles…wait…there…he heard someone crying…and quietly saying…asking for help…

Lea dropped to his knees. "Where are you?" he called, his voice raspy even from the being exposed to the smoke for only a few seconds.

"Help me…please…"

He crawled underneath the thick, choking, black clouds of smoke, blinking his eyes to keep them from blurring. There. A woman. Huddled next to one of the trees that kept her car suspended over Zeke's. Her legs, a bloody, torn mess, sprawled uselessly next to her. Her hands were buried in her face, and her body was racked with sobs. Lea reached out a hand and laid it on her shoulder. The woman whimpered and peered at him with large, wet brown eyes. "Hey, I'm here to help. The ambulance is on its way…"

"The shadows!" the woman gasped through chattering teeth. "I tried to get away…but the shadows…!"

Lea didn't want to argue with her. They were currently sitting right next to two cars that might explode at any moment, and she was ranting about shadows. Probably had hit her head – and if her earlier erratic driving were any sign, she was probably drunk as well.

"C'mon…I'm gonna get you out of here…"

"No! The shadows!" she screamed, cowering away.

Lea's eyes narrowed and he grabbed her arm, more forcibly than he intended to. "You're hurt, and I'm hurt, and I'm not leaving without you." With that, he grabbed her around her waist and began to, as gently but firmly as possible, pulled her away from the wreckage. But for someone that was injured, the woman fought him the entire way.

Lea – patience and humor already worn thin from his condition – was about to snap at her again when he noticed something emerge from the shadows. Dancing like a flame, but floating nonetheless…it resembled a shadow…but a shadow made of fire…it floated overhead with a strange exuberance…in a dark face glowed demonic golden eyes…

It dove.

The woman cowered.

Fire glowed in bright green eyes, and the flames began to–

xxx

He was right where he expected him to be.

The younger boy sat on the edge of the high tower, looking over that expanse of golds and reds that was eternal twilight, his eyes half-closed, as if he were caught in the moment between waking and dreaming. His legs, hidden by the black customary coat, dangled over the edge of the tower, and he leaned forward with such a predatory stances, he half-expected him to take to flight.

The poetic image was ruined slightly by the melting blue popsicle the boy held in his hand.

"They're looking for you," he interrupted, leaning against the clock face that looked out over the peaceful town. "I think they're getting tired of you running off like this." The boy shrugged. "You don't care?"

"No."

"Eloquent, as usual." Piercing blue eyes glared at him from over a shoulder. He gave a rueful grin. "But you can't stay here forever. Even if it is the one thing that you can remember."

"I like it here. It's…peaceful."

He said nothing for a long moment. Then, very quietly, "Better than eternal darkness. That can get boring sometimes."

A curious stare was sent towards the redhead.

Then, one very green eye opened and a smirk spread across handsome features. "But as boring as it is, we've got work to do, kid." And without waiting for his comrade to stand, he leaned over, hauled the boy up by his shoulders, and then, quite smoothly, dumped the surprised youth over his shoulder. The boy let out a shout of protest and immediately began squirming.

"Number VIII! Put me down!"

He laughed. "Two reasons why not. First, because you didn't get me any ice cream. Second, because you always call me Number VIII." The boy punched him in his lower back. "Now if I just so happen to drop you off the side of this tower…"

"What am I supposed to call you? Other than stupid and annoying?"

"No, Larxene already has dibs on that." He summoned a dark portal and tossed a grin over his shoulder. "The name is Axel. A-X-E-L. Commit it to memory, kid."

"It's Roxas, not 'kid'." A pause. "Did you really want some ice cream?"

A longer pause. Then, another laugh that seemed to last even after the portal closed.

xxx

Author's Note (11 Feb 07): Two months. That's a long time. Especially considering that my other two fanfictions are updated more regularly. (I'm bad, I know). But Lea's story was definitely hard to write, until I just let it flow and let the story write itself.

I know very little about the 19th century version of "The Awakening of Spring" – however, the new musical version of the German play has a very catchy soundtrack by Duncan Sheik (he performed the 90s hit song "Barely Breathing"). In fact, the title of this chapter almost became "More Like Your Ghost" from a line in the song "My Junk". I _highly_ recommend this musical recording for everyone.

I'm going to try to get to Demyx's chapter sooner, since I'm very eager to start his.

The song for the title of last chapter was from Josh Groban's "February Song".

I'd be much obliged if you review, even if it's short! Thanks for reading and I hope to see you all in the next chapter.

- Nashie


	4. Pretty Boy Frontman

**_Somebody, Somewhere, Someday _**

****

_Chapter 3: "Pretty Boy Frontman" _

Written by Samurai-Nashie

Disclaimer: _Kingdom Hearts_ is owned by Square-Enix and Disney respectively. This is a non-profit literary work written for entertainment purposes, and I have no legal claim to any of the characters used in this fanfiction.

xxx

The conservatory was noisy that afternoon. The kids had just been let out of school an hour before, and many had raced to get to their lessons on time. The usually quiet halls were now filled with chatter, as well as the random note or bar played here and there. Usually, the hustle and bustle only lasted a few minutes, but since today was the last day before vacation began, many of the students who would've come during the weekend were taking their classes a few days earlier.

Not that Felix minded. After all, that meant there was a free weekend ahead without any students who weren't quite sure how to make the music their own. He had patience – but nowhere near enough to hear someone attempt to tune their guitar for the fourteenth time in one day. By the end of the day, he was rewarded with a headache and a sharp tongue, thanks to his shredded nerves. Thank goodness he had managed to rearrange his schedule so that his entire afternoon was free.

Felix knew he was running late when he heard the strands of a foreign waltz drift from the practice room. The notes were clear and solid, and played almost lazily, as if the music itself was drifting slowly through the humid summer air. Somehow, that made it more enchanting. Above the music, he heard two people conversing quietly, one quite animatedly and the other quieter, more reserved. Felix grinned as he entered into the room.

The room was huge – and almost completely bare. Once, it had been a dance studio. Mirrors lined the wall facing the windows. The summer sun shone white and green through the trees whose branches leaned eagerly towards the windows. The dance bars had long since been removed, and in their places, a single baby grand piano sat in the middle of the room. Two blondes sat on the piano bench, one facing away from the keys, the other playing the tune, which had transformed from a waltz into some sort of concerto that Felix was sure he had heard somewhere before.

"Busted!" Felix shouted in way of announcing himself. Two pairs of almost-too-similar eyes looked up, though the pianist never halted in his playing. The other blonde jumped to his feet, a grin spreading across his features.

"You are totally late, man," he said with playful exaggeration. "We were waiting hours for you to show up." Felix spared a glance at the other blonde, who looked as if he were trying to hold in a laugh. "And you know, we have the gig tonight. An important gig, and you were supposed to be here so we could practice."

"On the piano?"

The concerto warped into a pop ballad.

"Duh – no!" The blonde pointed to the baby grand piano, and gestured. "This was the only room available that didn't have screaming kids in it."

"They were singing, D."

"Something in a foreign language about missing peas…"

This time, the pianist did laugh. "Wrong aria, D." His fingers flew across the black and white keys, evoking music that was still just as bit as turgid and drifting as the concerto and waltz before it. "No beginners on this floor."

Felix smirked. "How's it been going? Are they still offering you the scholarship?" The notes tripped slightly, and Felix almost regretted asking the question. But the blonde pianist simply smiled, slowly pulling his bench away from the gleaming keys, and shaking his head.

"They've given up for a bit," he explained, rising to his feet. Though he and the other blonde were almost identical in appearance, the pianist definitely had the height advantage. "I told them they could convince me after we finished this month's gigs."

"Seriously?"

"No." Long fingers ran through dirty blonde hair in need of a haircut, thick strands falling over green-colored eyes. "But I have to give them hope, right? I have to an answer by tomorrow."

"You are a dork, Eydm."

"The very special kind," came the reply.

Felix snorted in reply – it was the truth. Eydm has always been the slightly odd one out. It had probably begun in their first year of junior high when the lanky blonde, at the beginning of adolescence, had been deemed so physically uncoordinated by students and teachers that he had been banished to the music room during gym class. It was to everyone's surprise that the awkward preteen had (after destroying a drum set, and breaking the music teacher's arm) taken to the other (unharmed) musical instruments like a professional.

When asked about it later, Eydm always grinned and shrugged, "I guess music just can't be uncoordinated, no matter how hard you try."

The previously undiscovered talent had thrust Eydm into a certain limelight that had followed him for the rest of junior high, and through the first year of senior high. Then, because Fate seemed to love being fickle, he met Felix and Darchel (affectionately called "D"), and when they discovered that the "music geek" could actually rock out, things spiraled out of control from there. Felix was pretty sure that Eydm's parents were convinced that he and D were corrupting their musical ingénue of a son.

They had originally called their band Five Seconds Short of a Miracle (it was D's idea, of course). When the name proved too long, they had shortened it to FSSM. But when Felix said that that name sounded too stupid, Eydm had suggested to simply call themselves Five Seconds – after all, he said with a bright smile, that's all it took for people to fall in love with their music.

No one could ever argue with Eydm's line of reasoning.

Felix now tossed the blonde a suspicious look, and leaned forward. "Hey, you're not backing out of tonight, right? No family dinners that suddenly came up?"

Eydm blushed. "That was one time, Felix. And it wasn't my fault. You know how my dad is."

"Yeah. I know."

D rolled his eyes, and shoved himself between his two friends. "C'mon, you guys. We know Eydm's dad is a jerk, and that Eydm can't resist sweet potato pudding, and that we're going to be late if we keep standing here." He paused. "And I'm right."

Eydm and Felix gave their friend a look.

When D finally smirked, Eydm laughed slightly and grabbed the folder that still sat at the piano bench. "Okay, no family dinners. I promise this time." He threw an arm around D's shoulder and gave the shorter youth a grin. "But this gig better be worth it tonight. Or I'm going to have to have you cook a make-up dinner. And none of that Chinese take-out you tried to do last time. I can tell."

"What, are you a master cook now?"

Eydm laughed. "No. Just a master eater." He headed towards the door, grabbing a backpack that lay in the middle of the floor between the door and the piano. "Listen, I'll meet you guys at the club. I have to meet someone – but I promise I'll be there as soon as possible, okay?"

"Meet who?"

"How soon is as soon as possible?"

Their answers went unheeded since Eydm sprinted out of room the minute he had finished talking. Felix sighed, running his hand through his dark curls. "Great. Why does he always do that?" D shrugged, and rested a hip against the piano.

"Because he's Eydm. That's why."

"Oh, thanks."

A moment of silence.

"Hey, I thought we came here to practice…?"

Felix groaned.

"Again – why does he _always_ do that?"

xxx

Eydm glanced over his shoulder to make sure his friends weren't following him. He loved them to

death, and they were the best friends anybody could ask for, but when their gigs were possibly in jeopardy, Eydm knew from experience that D would unleash his fury in the forms of curse-ridden text messages and dark glares that had been known to burn holes in walls.

He walked down the hall, long legs carrying him swiftly to the opposite wing of the conservatory. A trio of girls was sitting outside one of the classrooms, practicing an aria in one of the foreign languages that Eydm still had yet to decipher. Waving at them (and getting a bunch of giggle-accompanied waves back), he turned the corner, and then raced the rest of the way towards the wooden door at the end of the hall.

Unlike the rest of the conservatory, the attic still looked as if it had been created nearly seventy-five years earlier. Because of the lack of heating and air conditioning (the walls were far too thin to have anything really installed), the room had been all but abandoned. Some of the students who had stumbled across the spacious attic sometimes snuck up into the dusty room to make out, but most decided that the near empty room wasn't exactly the best place for hooking up.

So it was with very little fear of getting caught that Eydm sprung up the widening staircase and vaulted over the railing (the teachers did _try_ to keep students out), landing with a slight "oomph". He still always thought it was a little sad that the attic wasn't used – even though its ceiling was remarkably low, its huge vaulted windows faced the north side of the conservatory, overlooking a magnificent view of the ocean, the beach, and the downtown skyline.

"I almost thought you weren't coming."

Eydm smiled, and rubbed the back of his neck. "You know how Felix and D can be."

The girl who already sat in the room near the windows said nothing, but her long, delicate fingers gently rubbed the embossed wood of her violin. Her dark hair was pulled into an upsweep, pinned in place by white pins that glinted in the sunlight. A long, white strapless sundress draped across her lithe form, and the only thing that prevented her from looking like a ghost from the past were the chunky ethnic bracelets on both of her wrists and her black galoshes.

"Posing for a fashion magazine later?" Eydm asked, joining her over by the windows. A long black case sat by her feet, and for the moment he ignored it. The girl smiled briefly, turning her hazel gaze towards him.

"I happen to like these boots."

"They look good on you."

The girl smiled again, but this time it faded as quickly as it appeared, and she pulled the music stand that had been resting behind her chair in front of her. "You brought the music?" she asked, lowering her eyes to the folder in Eydm's hand. The blonde nodded, and the girl frowned, bringing the violin to rest underneath her chin. "The concerto, then. The flute's in the case."

"To business already?" Eydm asked, even though he opened the folder and pulled the sheets the girl had requested. "You're not going to ask me how my day was, or about the gig?"

"No," the girl said simply, and she lifted her bow, testing out a few clear crystal notes that drifted across the vast attic space. "I don't see a reason to."

Before she could begin playing, the blonde reached forward and grabbed her right wrist so that she couldn't bring her bow up to rest on the strings of her violin. A simple, delicate eyebrow was raised, and that only served to unnerve Eydm even more. "What's wrong, Sophie? We're not going to practice with you not even talking to me in the first place, are we?"

Sophie gave Eydm a long, steely look. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me. What did I do?"

"You're going to that…thing tonight."

Eydm's eyes widened. "You said you didn't have a problem with it."

"I lied. That's what people do."

The blonde young man sighed, releasing her wrist and plopping down on the ground, long legs effortlessly sliding into the lotus style beneath him. "You could have said something sooner, Sophie. Were you planning on giving me the cold shoulder this entire time? Wait, don't answer that." He looked up at her through bangs that were in desperate need of a cut. "You really don't like me doing these, do you?"

"It's a waste of talent, Eydm," she said, lowering her violin to rest back on her lap. "A few years ago, you never wanted to be a rock group. You have a gift here that so many of the students would kill to have – a true musical protégée. And you're throwing it away by playing keyboard and singing back-up in a garage band."

Eydm grinned suddenly. "Did my parents put you up to this?"

The first true signs of emotion filtered across the brunette's face, and she flushed a light pink. "They do have good reason, Eydm. Do you know how many people get offered a full scholarship to the most prestigious performing arts college in the country?"

"My parents actually said that it was the most prestigious performing arts country in the world," shrugged Eydm, blushing slightly when Sophie glared at him. "Sorry, sorry. I know – you're all right. It's a great opportunity. I just…I just don't want to go."

"Why not?"

"Because!" Eydm stuck his tongue out at her, sprung to his feet and snatched the violin and bow out her hands. He backed up as the slender brunette surged to her feet, shock and annoyance clear on her pretty, cherub-like features. He placed the violin under his chin, and then gently pulled the bow across the strings. "I don't want to, and you guys can't make me!"

"That's being childish!"

"Oh, is it?" He teased her with a taunting melody. Sophie's brows knitted together.

"Give me back my violin!"

"But I'm so talented, I should just keep it for my own musical whims!" he laughed, jumping quickly out of the way of grabbing fingers. He wagged her bow at her, a silly smile on his face. "In fact, I'm feeling my muse wake up."

"Eydm!"

"I feel like writing a concerto!"

Sophie stamped her foot on the ground, and growled at the teasing young man in front of her. Eydm blinked innocently, and played a few notes to accompany the look. After a few moment of the stand-off, a small smile begin to work its way onto Sophie's face, and finally, she held out her hand expectantly. "Give it back, or you don't get to come to my sleepover tonight."

Eydm made a face at her. "You're evil."

The Cheshire smile slipped into even more devious overtones, and Sophie sidled up to him, slipping her arms around his waist and smiling gently up at him. "So are you. I hate coming between you and your parents. Because then they threaten to come between us." She sighed, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "Why can't you be like the other students here and accept a good thing when it's given to you?"

"Because then you wouldn't like me," Eydm said with a laughing note in his voice, wishing he could actually put down the violin now so he could hug the girl back. "And then we wouldn't have any of those sleepovers."

Sophie snorted. "Uh-huh. And I wouldn't ever be used to your snoring."

"I don't snore." Eydm pulled back slightly, enough to slip the violin between them. His smile was slightly bashful now, and he nodded towards the attic door. "Now, if we feel like haunting the school, we're going to have to start now. Felix and D still don't suspect what I do up here."

"Are those ghost stories still going around?" Sophie asked, bemused as she took her violin and bow and settled herself back down into her chair. "You would think someone would have figured out it was just us playing up here."

Eydm shrugged, kneeling down and flipping open the flute case. "Most of them are kids. They don't know any better."

"Hark says the eighteen-year-old."

The blonde grinned at her, his fingers deftly finishing arranging the parts of the flute before he brought it up to his lips. "The waltz?"

"Well, I was thinking maybe we could do the minuet instead. It might give us the edge." She leaned forward slightly, balancing the violin on her collarbone. "Though I would have preferred it if you played the cello."

Eydm winked at her. "You know as well as I do that a minuet wouldn't sound as good on a cello as it would with a flute." Sophie frowned, and then acquiesced the comment, lifting her bow expectantly over the strings of her violin.

"_Pianissimo_, Eydm. Lets not scare the other students today."

And in the dusty, antiquated attic, the enchanting minuet rose gracefully into the air…but not through the rest of the school.

xxx

Riggo was possibly the most well-known club in the city – not that that was always a good thing. It had been the center of huge fire seven years ago that had killed a dozen patrons, was usually on the news every few months because of some controversial band, and many people had stories of extremely eventful drunken nights that always seemed to start at Riggo's bar. There was something oddly hypnotic about the club – built inside a former warehouse that lay just far enough past the brink of downtown to make it edgy, it boasted the hugest (and probably most expensive) sound system in the city.

Which meant the police were constantly getting calls from residential businesses and homes that the music was way too loud, especially in the middle of the night.

After one phone call too many, the police had cornered the owner of the club, Viz Fortez, and consulted him about the problem. No one knew exactly what had been decided upon, but since Riggo was still open, and residential businesses and homeowners hadn't gone on television picketing the noise, most everyone assumed that Viz Fortez did indeed have magical powers.

Eydm thought it was silly rumor, but still cool nonetheless.

He sat in one of the backstage rooms, flipping through a magazine about the latest underground music, and was idly running his hand through his bangs. Unlike the other band members, who often got slightly nervous before performing for a large crowd, Eydm simply drank whatever caffeinated drink he could get his hands on and let the sugar do its work.

He looked up for a second to glance at the other two members in the room. Felix lay sprawled on the floor, an arm thrown across his face, and he was muttering something to himself in his native tongue underneath his breath. Eydm teased him often, mumbling gibberish and then pointing directly at the dark-haired man (he often received well-aimed punches to the arm for his troubles).

The other band member, the spiky-haired, tattooed Marz was drumming out a constant beat on the table, a large pair of headphones over his head. Marz had been Felix's best friend since…well…forever was probably not quite the word, but something close to it. He had once had enough piercings to make even the most liberal parent wince, but after Eydm told him that girls didn't really like to date or sleep with pincushions, Marz had gotten the point and reduced the amount of piercings he had to twelve.

Hey, it was a start.

Eydm yawned, and then tossed the magazine over into Marz's lap. "Maaaarz…what are you listening to?" The black-haired man scowled and tossed the magazine back, lowering his headphones to hang around his neck.

"Music. Dork."

Eydm scooted forward and tapped out the beat that Marz had been rapping out on the table only seconds earlier. "That beat – what band?"

Marz smirked and leaned back in his chair. "I hate it when you do that. But if you want to know, why don't use the huge dictionary of music that's locked in your brain?"

"You could just tell me."

"Nah," came the reply, and Eydm sighed, looking around for something to throw something else to throw at Marz. When he found nothing, he threw up his hands and settled back into the ratty couch. Marz chuckled and replaced the headphones back on his head, and went back into rapping out the beat against the table.

At that moment, the door to the room opened and a muscular, sharply-dressed man walked in. Looking at the three members of the group, he snorted. "Bored?"

"He's nervous," Eydm said, pointing to Felix, who had unslung his arm from over his eyes. Then he nodded at Marz, "And he's being…Marz."

Viz Fortez nodded, and closed the door behind him. "Scared of the big gigs?"

"Me? Nah. I've had bigger concert recitals. And they're a little more critical than people who just want a good beat to dance to."

Felix muttered something that sounded strikingly like, "Speak for yourself…"

Viz looked around the room and then raised an eyebrow. "Where's Darchel?"

Marz snorted – Viz was the only one who still called D by his full name. Eydm gave the older man a look, and then shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know. He said he had to take care of something. You know how he gets before gigs. You remember what happened at PM." Felix winced, and Viz nodded in sympathy – for all of D's bravado, he often needed to be coaxed by at least one or two cans of beer before he could perform without too much anxiety.

"So I'll keep my eye out at the bar for him?" Viz suggested, readjusting his black jacket. "You guys don't need to warm up, do you? Because after this group finishes up, you're next."

Edym smiled at that prospect, while Felix groaned, replacing his arm over his eyes. Marz simply frowned and continued to pat out the beat of the song he was listening to on the table. "Sounds awesome. We'll be ready." Viz laughed, and excused himself, heading back into the cacophony of the club. Eydm picked up Felix's bass guitar and plucked a few strings experimentally. "This is going to be great."

"Your parents didn't object too much, did they?"

"I didn't tell them," came the quiet reply, and Eydm lifted his light green eyes to meet Marz's own gray ones. "Sophie probably will. Then I'll hear it when I get home."

"What is with them and that scholarship?" Marz scoffed disdainfully. "It's your damn decision." Eydm sighed and played a tune on the guitar, a little bit uncomfortable to discuss once again the scholarship. His fellow band members had already made it clear what they thought about the whole issue (they didn't like it), and he knew he would hear the same conversation when he got home with his parents.

_"Throwing your life away…" _

_ "Perfect opportunity…" _

_ "The college scout said that raw talent like yours is rare…" _

_ "Delusions of being a rock star…" _

Yeah, he was definitely looking forward to _that_. And Sophie, usually so supportive, having been drawn right into the midst of the feud, was beginning to side with his parents. He couldn't really blame her though – after all, her father's family founded the conservatory they both studied at, and her mother was an internationally renowned pianist. Sophie would naturally choose the scholarship.

His own parents – a business CEO and a regional bank manager – had been slightly surprised at finding out that their son was exceptionally good at music, and thought that pursuing a career in the field of classical music was perfectly acceptable. They just hadn't counted on Eydm being good at nearly all forms of music, or having a strangely intense passion for rock music in particular.

They had been arguing for months.

"Don't look so emo," Felix called from the floor. "If you're not happy, then the rest of us are down." He sat up and glared at the door. "And where the heck is D?"

"Probably still trying to get buzzed," Marz muttered, rolling his eyes.

He hadn't yet finished his sentence when the door of the room swung open, and Viz reentered, supporting a clearly intoxicated D, who was protesting all the while. Marz cursed loudly and jumped to his feet, knocking into the table as he did so. Felix also rounded on the door, and then leapt up to help Viz and D into the room, and the latter over the couch.

"What the hell, D!?" Marz exclaimed, a dark look on his face.

The short blonde stared blankly at him, and then grinned. "Don't yell so loud. You're gonna kill 'em."

Eydm shot Viz a look that obviously demanded an explanation. The owner of the club sighed helplessly. "He was at the bar. Sam said he only had three beers, so I don't even know how to explain this." The tall blonde frowned, and then pushed himself between a very distraught Marz and knelt down next to D. The other blonde smirked at him and leaned forward.

"We've got a gig…" D breathed. Eydm narrowed his eyes and pushed the loose strands of blonde curls back from D's eyes.

After a few moments, a dark look suddenly crossed Eydm's face. "Felix, Marz – you guys head to the stage. I'll take care of him."

"Wait – we're supposed to go on? Our lead singer is dead drunk!" Marz exclaimed.

"This is just perfect…" Felix murmured, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Just do it."

The cold, almost angry, bite in Eydm's voice caught everyone except D in the room off-guard. Marz opened his mouth to ask what the world was wrong, but Felix, who had known Eydm longer and knew that the sudden inflection in his voice was not a good thing, grabbed his friend's shoulder and pulled him towards the door. "We'll see you guys up there, then."

Eydm didn't even seem to hear him. It was only a few minutes after the room had cleared that Eydm pulled the coffee table nearer to the couch so that he could glare evenly at the other blonde. For a moment, neither of the two said anything until D groaned and flopped over on the arm of couch. "You're too serious. We gotta go…"

"You're stoned."

"Like hell. Or something…" D smiled at him. "You don't know much of anything."

"Your speech isn't slurred. You don't get drunk after three beers. You get drunk after six. And your pupils are dilated. Don't try to tell me you're not high!" Eydm's eyes with dark with barely repressed frustration. "What the hell were you thinking? This is our huge gig tonight…and you go and do something like this…"

"What're you talking about…I can play."

Eydm tried not to sigh. "But do you even remember the songs we have to play? Or the lyrics to what we're supposed to sing? God, Darchel, what did you take?"

"Stop doing that." D tried to frown and failed, slumping back in the couch. "People get nervous."

"So you decide to…god, you're stupid."

"Shut up." It was a futile attempt at seriousness.

Eydm bit his bottom lip, a sign that he was thinking furiously of a solution to the problem in front of him. "I don't want to do this, but I gotta leave you back here. You are going to sleep this off – so when you wake up Marz can cuss you out from here to the next continent." He glanced around the room, and then went around to pick up D's own guitar. "For your sake, I hope Felix can manage on the keyboard."

"You can't do that!" D protested, trying to surge to his feet, but Eydm simply pushed him back on the couch. "You son of a – "

Eydm said nothing, but just walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. He wasn't at all surprised to see Felix, Marz, and Viz waiting outside the room for him. The darkness, mixed with the noise of the band currently playing on stage was enough to be exhilarating and just enough to cause the faint traces of butterflies in his stomach. "Viz, I've got a favor."

"What is it?"

"Can you get Van to keep an eye on D for us? He's…not performing," Eydm finished with a sigh.

Marz cursed loudly, and Felix blinked at him. "What do you mean he's not performing? He's our frontman! We don't have anything if we don't play with him!"

"I'm gonna do it."

"You can't!"

"We don't have a choice," Eydm retorted, giving Felix an even glare. "You're not a singer, and Marz is the only one who can play the drums worth listening to. If we don't go on, we don't get heard. I don't want to leave D out of this, but we're stuck. Do you have any better ideas?"

Felix slumped. "No."

Marz scowled, holding his drumsticks like weapons of war. "I'm gonna bash his brains in."

Viz gave Eydm a serious look. "You sure you want to do this?" Eydm frowned, and looked over at his two remaining bandmates. He then nodded. Viz sighed, and then said something about going off to find Van, leaving three by themselves. For a few seconds, no one said anything. Then, Marz sighed, and rubbed his shoulder.

"What songs?"

Eydm gave his two friends a slightly crooked smile. "Felix, which ones do you have down on the keyboard?"

Felix's brown furrowed. "August, Saving Grace, and Scene of a Disaster. Anything other than that is iffy." Eydm began biting his bottom lip as the three headed towards the wings of the stage. "I don't like that look. What's up?"

"Marz, you can catch a beat quick, right?"

"What? Yeah. Why?"

"I've got an idea. I don't want to make it seem like I'm copying D. We're gonna change August around a little bit."

Felix nearly halted. "What?"

Eydm flipped the strap of the guitar over his head as the crowd cheered the departing band from the stage. "You guys think we could rock out a minuet?"

Felix gaped, Marz smirked, and the emcee announced them.

Some in the crowd were probably surprised to see only three of the members of Five Seconds, those who had gone to other clubs to see them play. The lights were dim out in the crowd, where neon seemed to be the color of choice for the night. If they had been as dim on stage, Eydm could possibly have passed for D, except for the height and the fact that D's hair was wavy. On stage, though, the brightly-colored lights did not hide those qualities.

And, as in most crowds, it only took a few people to start a murmur, and a murmur could quickly become a protest.

Eydm found himself approaching the mike at the center of the stage, while crowd seemed to shift in front of him. No pressure? At least at recitals he could look at his sheet music and not at the crowd. He adjusted the strap of the guitar, and then out into crowd, which was growing more and more irritable by the second. He sighed. Right. This was a _brilliant_ idea.

He threw a glance at Marz, who was still wearing his headphones around his neck. Quietly mouthing the name of the song, he turned to Felix and nodded.

Marz tapped out the beat behind him.

And Eydm began to play a minuet on his guitar.

The crowd, confused by the simple introduction, began to vocally protest this lack of pumping dance music, but Eydm, his fingers dancing smoothly across the strings, decided to ignore them for the moment. He could coax music out of anything (well, perhaps that huge sitar that his uncle had bought while overseas), and he could make anybody listen.

No sooner had the capo ended, then did Eydm quietly whisper, "One, two…"

And, as promised, he electrified the minuet.

He was pretty sure Marz and Felix were surprised, for they started playing a few seconds later than normal, but not enough to be noticeable. He grinned out at the crowd, who had gone from aggravated to surprised and now to…excitement? Well, he'd take what he could.

_August mornings, wake up _

_ From last nights thoughts of _

_ The best of me, gave the best of me _

_ And see you here, under dawn _

_ The best of you, the very best of you_…

D had called him a sucker for lyrics. Eydm had to admit it was true – he could never write angry or bitter, no matter how hard he tried (they left those lyrics up to Marz, their resident "emo-man" as D called him).

_A moment, just one I need _

_ And this is the morning after _

_ That night, little night before _

_ That changed me, yeah it changed me_

He wondered what his parents would say if he found out that he had opened up their gig with a classical number. They probably wouldn't care.

Not like it mattered.

_Cause it was moment like that _

_ You're no hero, you're no savior _

_ But you gave me something _

_ Gotta wonder how you did it and wonder why _

_ But I _

He had to admit to himself as he went into a brief guitar riff – this was fun. _No wonder D is always on a high after this_, he thought, then winced internally at the unintentional pun. _He's never done this before…but…_

_August nights, end of those memories _

_ Goodbye midsummer days _

_ And you changed things with just one look _

_ A touch of your hand, understand _

_ And I found out I knew, I really knew _

_ That in my soul, that in my blood _

_ This was everything that you could do _

_ You could take me, you could break me _

_ And yesterday, my life was yesterday _

Eydm wanted to laugh as he saw the crowd cheering, and dancing along to the upbeat music (_a minuet_, he thought to himself at his own personal joke). Sophie and his parents may have loved the quiet nonchalance of a concert hall, but there was nothing that could beat this. In the concert hall, everything was proper and in its place, but here…the crowd gave him energy, and in return, he gave them music.

And it was crazy awesome.

_Cause it was moments like that _

_ With you and your eyes and that smile _

_ You gave me something _

_ Gotta wonder how you did it and wonder why _

_ But I… _

_ I had the best day of my life _

xxx

It was two in the morning.

And Eydm was sure that he was going to be keyed for at least another three hours.

The cheers they had gotten had been nothing short of moving. He had fallen back on his bashful smile, which was more relieved that they hadn't been killed by boos. He had given Felix and Marz a thumbs-up, and Felix looked so relived that he hadn't messed up his keyboard solo that he didn't care what the crowds thought. Marz had smirked and sat back in his chair, twirling his drumsticks with the ease of a professional.

He had been about to snag a beer to celebrate, but Felix had snatched it out of his hand, teasingly saying, "Nope. Three more years, kid."

Eydm had pouted, but it had all been in good humor.

But suddenly having groupies had been a little too much.

He had escaped to the docks after the fifth girl had attached herself to his arm. Before he did so, Felix told him that D was sleeping off whatever he had taken into his system, so Eydm was a little bit relieved. Still…he couldn't help but wonder why…

He sat on the edge of the dock, glancing down at the water beneath his dangling his feet. The black water reflected the glowing yellow lights outside the former warehouse, and the soft pale green lights that lined the dock itself. There were a few boats tied up further along the dock, and from his seat, he could see the two lighthouses that shone just two miles away from the city's coastline.

Still, the night was black.

He sighed, falling onto his back and staring up at the sky. The lights of the city made seeing stars hard, but the brightest still shone through the deep violet night. Mixed with the distant thump of the club's music, the gentle splashing the waves, and the distinct smell of seawater, Eydm was pretty much at peace. He knew what he would have to return to – more arguments and D – but at least for moment…

"Eydm!"

The moment was gone.

Eydm straightened, and looked down the dock, where D was sheepishly walking towards him. The taller blonde raised an eyebrow and turned back to look at the sea. "Hey."

"Hey." There was an uncomfortable pause. Footsteps signaled D's steady approach, and soon, Eydm felt the shorter man's presence towering over him. "Hey…about earlier…"

"Are you still high?"

"I slept most of it off," D admitted, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Hey, I heard you guys did good."

"We did."

D sighed, and then flopped down next to the other blonde on the dock. "Listen, Eydm. I was stupid. I panicked. This was a huge gig, right? And I know I blew it. But…I just couldn't…" He hesitated. "I couldn't do it…I just…"

"Have you done it before?"

The question was blunt, and probably took D by surprise. "What?"

Eydm sighed, and then turned to face his friend, his light green eyes serious. "Have you done drugs before? I know Marz has, and I remember that one time with Felix…but you? Please tell me that you haven't done this before. Because the person I saw in the room earlier was a stranger. And I don't want to think I've been with a stranger."

D was quiet, and he looked away. Eydm turned away, his shoulders hunched slightly. "Well?"

"I've been drunk before. But I've never done this."

_Thank God. _

The two were silent for a few more minutes before Eydm finally laughed slightly, "And you said I'm a dork." D let out a sound of protest, and then rocked forward to punch Eydm in the arm. The taller blonde laughed. "Well, it's true. No more drugs for you. They make you stupid."

"Oh, thanks. Build my self-esteem, why don't you?"

They sat side by side for a few more minutes, Edym's legs still dangling over the side of the dock, D sitting on his heels next to him, looking out towards the distant lighthouses. Finally, D asked, "Hey, I know everyone keeps asking you this, but…you have to make the decision tomorrow…er, today…about the scholarship. Do you know what you're going to do?"

Eydm rested his chin in his palm, a distant look appearing in his eyes. "It might be only a little bit harder if I didn't love what I did so much. I mean…it's music. One of them requires extensive professional skill and the others…it's rock, man. How can I not love it?"

D said nothing, and let Eydm continue. "I want to think it's possible to take this scholarship, and still be in a rock band. But I know I can't have both." He sighed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. "Maybe I'll just join the circus and be done with it."

"You'd make a good clown."

Eydm would have replied, but something splashed just below his feet. He leaned over, resting his knees on his elbows. "We've got some crazy fish." He swiped a strand of hair behind his ear, and peered down at his barely visible reflection.

D said something about the music probably corrupting the fish, but Eydm never did quite hear what he said. All he knew was that _something_ leapt from the water, something that was dark with glowing eyes, and that was definitely not a fish and firmly attached itself to Eydm's arm.

He let out a shout of surprise, trying to shake the think off. D leapt to his feet, eyes wide. Whatever the thing was, it had claws – _claws, what the hell!?_ – and was digging into Eydm's bare arm. He let out another surprised, incoherent yell as D jumped forward, trying to detach the thing from his friend's arm. The creature, some aqua and white and silver monster with golden eyes, screamed with an inhumanly voice, and tightened its grip.

Eydm heard more splashing below, and had the sinking feeling that there were more of these things just below their feet, less than two yards below. The creature spun rapidly, and seeing that D was trying in vain to pull it off the other blonde, turned and latched its other arm onto D. The shorter young man roared in frustration and confusion, eyes widening as the creature released Eydm's arm completely and brought its claws down, aiming for his heart.

"No!"

Eydm grabbed the monster, and with a mighty heave, pulled it off his friend. But he misjudged the shifting of the weight as he pulled the heavy creature off his friend, and he felt himself fall backwards, the flailing monster still in his grasp, and he saw D's eyes grow in concern and then fear and then the water closed over his head with a dull splash…

And in the dark waves of the sea, he saw more of those golden eyes, and he couldn't breathe, growing closer and closer and there was no air and felt pain as something sharp –

xxx

He watched with a smile as the other blonde glared at him.

"I said stop."

He grinned even wider, leaning against the sitar in his arms, and then rolled his eyes at the icy glare the newest member of the Organization was sending his way. "Chill, man. I was just practicing. You've been spending way too much time around Axel." The shorter young man stiffened, and rather than reply to the comment, spun on his heel and stormed away. The other member of the Organization watched him go, his head tilted to the side in a curious manner.

He didn't even turn around when another black-cloaked figure emerged into the room through a dark portal. The man who had entered was silent for a long moment, and then quietly said, "Why do you keep pushing him?"

The smile slipped from the blonde's face, as easily and as frighteningly quickly as it appeared. "Because he's a weak link in the chain. He doesn't follow directions, and he's more stubborn than any of us put together." A frown. "And he's the Superior's favorite, so he has immunity."

Zexion raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like you're jealous." Demyx laughed, but the sound was as hallow as the place in his chest where a heart would beat. He threw a grin over his shoulder and winked.

"I make people believe what they want to believe."

xxx

Author's Note (1 June 2007): (throws the chapter at the readers and then runs to hide inside her fort) Please don't kill me! I didn't mean for it to be four months between updates. Blame my HSM story! (points a finger)

Okay, seriously, though: my deepest apologies. Like Lea's chapter, I got stuck until I finally decided that maybe I needed a soundtrack for this chapter. And boom – suddenly, the chapter flowed. So thank you All-American Rejects and JC Chasez.

As for the darker Demyx approach – I think I'm one of the few fangirls who likes the idea of two sides of Demyx. We even saw it in the game: after the gamer's second encounter with him, Sora accuses him of having no emotions, at which Demyx turns away from him, but when he turns back, all that cheerfulness is gone from his face as he coldly says, "Silence, traitor."

Yeah, that line alone made me a Demyx fan. (He reminds me a lot of Duo Maxwell from _Gundam Wing_).

I'm shutting up now! Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think (and pray that Rolud's chapter comes sometime this year)!

- Nashie


	5. Leave That Light Burning For Me

_**Somebody, Somewhere, Someday**_

_Chapter 4: "Leave That Light Burning For Me"_

Written by Samurai-Nashie

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts is owned by Square-Enix and Disney respectively. This is a non-profit literary work written for entertainment purposes, and I have no legal claim to any of the previously created characters used in this fan fiction.

xxx

It was just past two in the morning when the door to the loft opened.

A lone figure strode into the room, dropping a bag by the door and letting out a sigh as his fingers gently grazed the light switch. The hallway's oil-based lamps flickered once and then lit up to cast a warm glow onto the dark blue walls and mahogany-colored wooden floors. The man squinted his eyes against the sudden brightness as he closed the door behind him, and locked.

Dropping his keys on the dining room table as he passed it, he continued into the apartment, past the living room and the kitchen and down a connecting hallway. He stopped at one of the first rooms, twisted the handle, and peered inside. A shaft of golden candlelight illuminated the center of the room, dividing the nursery into two walls of blue darkness - the picture window on the far wall created a magnificent backdrop of the black silhouetted city against the pale gold light of the moon. On both sides of the window lay two beds, currently occupied by two children, tucked in tightly beneath their matching coverlets.

He stood there for a very long time, quiet and contemplative until one of the children stirred, the ray of light from the hallway, as dim as it was, waking her. Tousled blonde curls fell into sleepily blinking green eyes, and pink lips pouted precariously before quietly calling out, "Poppa?"

His face softened slightly, and he entered into the room to kneel by her bed, stroking her curls as she turned on her side to look at him, her stuffed bear tucked under her chin. "Shh, darling. Go back to sleep. You're dreaming."

"But if I'm up…" the three-year-old began, and he only smiled, patting her gently on the head before pulling her covers up closer around her shoulders. "Are you gonna go to the off-his?"

He was silent, and then he smiled warmly. "In order to wake up, you have to be asleep first." The girl blinked at him sleepily, and a few more moments and gentle stroking her hair and a softly hummed lullaby later, the girl's eyes fluttered shut. The man leaned over to kiss her forehead, sighed quietly and then rose to his feet, glancing over at the other bed where a slightly older girl was still fast asleep, lightly snoring. He walked over to her, kissed her cheek, and then walked out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.

"You can't keep doing this."

He didn't turn. "Hello, Eliza."

The woman standing at the end of the hall frowned at him as she finished tying the end the belt of her dark, floor-sweeping night robe. "I told you, Rould - either come when they can actually spend time with you or don't come at all. And where the hell did you get that key from?"

"You left it taped at the bottom of the door, as usual," Rould replied, quietly entering into the kitchen and switching on a light. He didn't make wait for the woman to follow him as he opened one of the cupboard doors and pulled out a glass - elegantly crafted, bought as a gift from lands abroad. Turning on the faucet, he glanced briefly back at her as she followed him into the room and glared. "Some things never change, Liz."

"And some things do," the woman hissed wearily, walking over to the faucet and turning it off. Her gray eyes were shadowed in annoyance and hurt. "You can't just barge in here whenever you feel like it. Not anymore. If there was any promise you ever wanted to keep, you needed to keep this one. Or did you forget, like you do with everything else?"

Rould's dark gray eyes flashed with an incomprehensible emotion. "I didn't forget. When one kicks you out of the house, it's something you're bound to remember."

Eliza said nothing, but she walked over to opposite side of the tiny kitchen, where a stack of papers sat. Rould frowned as he noticed their color in the flickering light - a muted gray tone, darker along the edges. Only legal papers were colored that way, just as papers from the monarchy were always pale gold, papers from the guard were always white, and papers from the navy's navigational offices were a rich tan lined in royal blue. Rould could vaguely make out some sort of fancy letterhead at the top of the stack, and his eyes traveled from the paper to Eliza, who held out a singular sheet with regretted conviction. Rould took the sheet suspiciously, and then glanced down at it. Then, very quietly, and almost in a shocked voice, "Eliza…"

"I told you I wasn't doing this anymore, Rould," the woman said quietly, turning her back to him as she walked out of the room towards the parlor. "We can start the proceedings as soon as you're done with your work…"

"_Eliza_…"

"But then, you're never done with your work, so what does it matter?" she concluded, sitting down on the far chaise lounge near the window that overlooked the gardens. Silence reigned within the room for a few seconds, with only the faint tocks of the grandfather clock ringing quietly in the background, every second of silence more oppressing than the last.

Then, finally, the floorboards creaked. Eliza spun her head around, her marmalade-tinted curls flying. "Don't you _dare_. Don't you dare try to fix it now. It's too late." She turned back to look over the gardens and laughed bitterly. "You gave us everything, Rould. Everything I could possibly hope for. Except for you. When I married you, we promised each other…we promised each other devotion. But all you're devoted to nowadays are those ridiculous nautical plans for the navy."

"I have never…_everything _I've done has been for this family!"

"It didn't matter! Because even if you gave us everything in the world, you never gave us the most important thing - _you_!"

Rould said nothing, standing in the darkened parlor and grasping the divorce papers in his hands with a clenched fist. He seemed unable to say anything.

Six years. Six years of wedded…well, it hadn't been bliss. If it had been they wouldn't have been having this conversation now. It seemed so long ago when he had been accepted into the nautical branch of the national guard. It hadn't been soon after that he had proposed to Eliza, at that time a fiery, hardworking student at one of the prestigious private schools in Barlow. The wedding had been one of those highly publicized events in the public journals - after all, Eliza was the daughter of a favorite statesman and he was the young navy officer who was quickly rising through the ranks.

Two years later, they had welcomed Nora into the world. That's when the problems began - Rould had just been promoted to commander and sub-master shipbuilder in the navigational offices, leaving him with more duties, more responsibilities, and less time at home. Eliza had noted it quietly, but the joyful rush of motherhood eclipsed any problems…at first.

But by the time Adelaine was born, circumstances and feelings had drifted further downhill than either Eliza or Rould had predicted.

They stood in the parlor now, separated by more than just the exotic rug that lay just underfoot.

"Mummy? Poppa?"

The parents turned to see Nora and Adelaine standing in the entrance to the parlor. Nora held Adelaine's hand, and Adelaine was squeezing the stuffed bear Rould had just tucked her in with. Eliza was on her feet in moments, her red-gold hair glinting in the candlelight as she brushed past Rould towards her two daughters. "Girls, what are you doing? You should be in bed."

"Addy said that Poppa was here," Nora protested, peering around her mother's shoulder to see the tall, welcoming figure of her father standing just a few feet away. "Poppa!" And even her mother's half-hearted protests couldn't stop the four-year-old girl from wriggling out of her grasp, and launching herself around her father's legs. Rould chuckled, picking the girl up and spinning her in the air.

"I told you," Adelaine said, her lower lip jutting out slightly as Eliza picked up her, gently scolding her for getting out of bed so late at night. "But Mummy, Poppa is…"

"I know," Eliza whispered. She turned back to where Rould was receiving a flurry of butterfly kisses from their oldest daughter. "Still, we do have rules in this house. And since we're visiting Granmummy, we need all the sleep we need."

"But…"

"_Nora_."

The redheaded girl sighed as melodramatically as she could before squeezing her father's neck one more time. "Poppa, are you coming to Granmummy's?"

A look of hurt passed over Rould's face, but he quickly pulled on a smile. "We'll see. Now, listen to your mother. You two need to go back to bed."

Nora frowned, with all the perception of a four-year-old, sure that something was wrong, but said nothing, only trailing after Eliza as the woman picked up Nora and headed back to the nursery. Dark eyes sought his right before she turned the corner, leaving Rould in the parlor by himself. He stood there for a moment, glancing in the direction his wife (maybe not for that much longer) and his two daughters disappeared to. He clenched his fist, and as silently as he arrived, slipped from the parlor and out of the loft.

xxx

Brigette Baxter was not at all surprised to see Rould already in his office by the time she arrived to work the next day.

She was surprised that he was just sitting at his desk, staring at the papers in front of him blankly.

Frowning thoughtfully, Brigette pushed the door open further and admitted herself in, quickly closing it behind her. No need for curious personnel glancing in and asking pointless questions. Tucking her dark blonde hair underneath her uniform hat, she walked over to Rould's desk, and leaned over it, willing him to acknowledge her presence. "Rould? Darling, are you okay?"

Rould didn't reply for a few moments, and then he let out a sigh. "No. Not really."

Brigette knew that sigh - she had heard him utter it more times in the past few weeks than either of them would care to admit. She walked behind the desk and placed a comforting arm on his shoulder. "Is it Eliza again?" Rould didn't shake her hand away - he seemed to relax into her touch, and then he nodded a mute reply. Brigette wasn't at all surprised - it hadn't taken a genius to realize that the once golden marriage between her brother and her sister-in-law was rapidly crumbling.

"I went to see them last night - the girls," Rould said quietly, his eyes briefly falling on the silver wedding band he wore on his right ring finger. "I didn't intend for Eliza to see me - I already knew it would be awkward…" He paused, and Brigette had the sinking feeling that there was more to what he was saying. She just stood there, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly until he managed to whisper, "Getty…she wants a divorce."

Brigette gaped at him. "A divorce? Rould, that's simply not done. The scandal…think of the girls!"

"I did, but this is Eliza we're speaking of," Rould replied quietly. "The only thing I've ever convinced her to do in all the time I've known her is marry me. She'll go through with it if she thinks it's the best thing for the girls, for the family."

"How would a divorce be good for any of you?" Brigette replied sharply, annoyed now. "It seems as if it would cause more problems then it would fix." Rould said nothing, and Brigette only clucked her tongue in frustrated annoyance. "What are you going to do, baby brother?"

Rould would have responded, but at that moment, the door to his office swung open, and a young man with a mop of strawberry-blonde hair hidden under a tweed cap and a dusting of dark freckles across his tanned skin entered. Tucked under one his arms were around half a dozen rolled-up blueprints. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, and his suspenders drooped at his sides. "G'mornin', Rould. How's the chase?" The young man stopped when he saw Brigette standing just over her brother, raising an eyebrow at him. "Oh, 'lo, Getty. You're lookin' right dishy today."

"I'd hope so," Brigette drawled, casting a look at her brother, who was glancing at the blueprints the young man was holding. Obviously, they would not be continuing their conversation for awhile. "Are those the blueprints for the _Majestic Force_'s upgrades?"

The young man blinked. "The _Majestic Force_? No, not these. Rould, doesn't she know?"

"Know what?" From the tone of Brigette's voice, it sounded like she _very _much would have liked to know what was hidden on the other side of the blueprints. Rould offered his sister a wane smile, but she wasn't fooled. "Rould, you haven't started another project, have you?"

"New? This one's a few weeks old, actually."

"Lane!"

"_Rould_! You can't possibly be thinking of starting a new project!"

Lane sighed, and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling of the office, murmuring something about impossible siblings. Without missing a beat, he stepped forward and dumped the armful of blueprints onto the desktop, carefully setting aside the random knickknacks that always seemed to collect on Rould's desk - a blown glass paperweight from Chinchera, a miniscule globe from Davinport, and an assortment of lead pencils from Brighton and Shanglai.

"The crew's sayin' that the guard's plannin' on keepin' this one a-go-around," Lane explained, unrolling one of the thicker blueprints. Brigette, despite herself, leaned over the desk, and quietly marveled at the intricate details for a new airship. "They think the idea of a hydro-powered airship is an ace idea. Rowland's keepin' most of the others at head because of it to keep 'em from botchin' it up like the last crew - said they would've blown it to the bridges if they got a hand of it this time a-go-around."

A small smile slipped across Rould's face as the mix of street jargon and the unmistakably thick Westmiller accent made Lane nearly indecipherable. The look on Brigette's face suggested faint confusion the moment Lane mentioned Rowland keeping anybody "at head", but Rould, used to the young engineer's language nuances, already managed to gather the gist of the conversation.

Rould nodded his appreciation. "What do you think of the hull, Lane?"

"I think it's right smart," came the reply as Lane removed his cap to scratch his head. "Bit of a skimp on the old rigging though. Y'sure of just keepin'm?"

"Might as well - unless you think you can design something better?"

Lane's bright smile answered his questions, and he dumped the last remaining blueprints onto the desk. "Already in front of the line, sir."

Brigette picked up one of the blueprints, and whistled low beneath her breath. "Impressive, Lane. You're keeping up with the four aces, it appears. Bit of a blatant use of the rivet-design along the hull. Exactly how long did it take you to design something like this?"

Lane grinned. "Few days shy of a fortnight."

"My condolences."

Rould chuckled. "I'm sure he doesn't mind it." Lane only smirked in response. "Alright, Lane. Show Rowland these after you've cleaned up that bit around the engine area - Brigette's right, it looks a bit sloppy." Lane nodded quickly, stuck his cap back on his head askew, gathering up his blueprints before heading towards the door. "And, Lane? Make sure that Rowland knows that I know about that whole bloody incident in the shipyard." Lane laughed, and disappeared from the doorway.

Brigette glanced at her brother. "The incident?"

"Have Lane tell you - he can always make it more - what does he say - _ace _than I can."

Brigette frowned. "It doesn't suit you - the slang."

"I'm not that old."

"Well, of course not," Brigette remarked off-handedly. "If you're old at twenty-six, then that must make me decrepit." She glanced in the direction of the door. "Speaking of Lane though, I thought you were planning to school him. What with his language skills, or lack thereof."

Rould gave a small shrug of his shoulder, repositioning the items on his desk. "I thought about it until I realized the idea of schooling anyone in their speech would drive me mad." He was silent for a moment, before his lips quirked up into a sad smile. "Eliza always said that my rhetoric was as terrible as the worst urchin in the north alleys when she first met me."

"Rould…"

"We can talk about it later, Brigette."

"But, Rould…"

Her younger brother looked up at her, and offered her a wan smile. "I promise." And because Brigette had never been able to push her brother to do anything he didn't want to do, and getting him to talk when he didn't want to was the next most impossible thing on earth next to men being with child, she decided to leave the conversation for awhile. After all, with the impending divorce looming over their heads, she knew that it was only a matter of time before the stress would finally begin to eat away at him.

"Fine. But you _can _talk to me, remember."

"I remember," Rould said, before Brigette nodded her head and lovingly cupped the young man's stubbly chin before smiling reassured. She headed towards the door and stepped from the room, only casting one more glance back over her shoulder before shutting the door behind her.

The sight of Rould placing his head in his hands broke her heart in more ways than one.

xxx

Brigette was right about one thing, Rould reluctantly admitted to himself. He was more than fool for starting this new project.

He strode to the window that allowed him to oversee the outside shipyard that lay like a huge oval bowl six stories below. Just past the shipyard were administrative buildings, surrounded by a line of the few remaining evergreens left in the area that separated the naval architectural sites from the low-lying areas of the city. From his window, he would see the multi-sailed airships leaving port near the Lowinger Palace, the heavy tan or dark-blue colored sails catching the bright white-gold light of the late morning sun.

He knew that his new designs would be revolutionary in the making of the airships - hydro-powered airships would reduce the strain put on the sails, and be far less time-consuming when designing the buoyancy of the airships. The _Crea Novada _- named after a faraway land in one of Nora and Adelaine's storybooks - would undoubtedly catch the attention of the guards from even the furthest of countries.

Rould sighed, glancing down at the wedding band that glinted like a promise in the morning sun. He admitted it to himself - the project had resulted in early mornings and late nights in the yard, more days spent away from his family than he cared to admit. And he was sure that the disappointed frowns and the clipped conversations with Eliza only drove him into working harder.

Now look where it had led him.

Honestly, he sometimes thought he should drop everything where it was, forget about his position as commodore in the navy's navigational offices and master shipbuilder. But, then, he remembered, often at the edge of his decisions, that what he did was always for the good of his family. He needed to take care of them, and whatever Eliza threw at him, that would always come first.

Her words hurt though. Did they really expect him not to support them? Or was it something else? He had tried to comprehend the situation so many times after terse suppers and the oft-silent aftermaths. Shaking his head and glancing down at this ring, Rould thought, _I have no idea…what should I do? What _can _I do?_

"You're in a bit of a nark there, mate," a throaty, heavily-accented voice called from the door. Rould blinked and turned to where a tall, heavily-muscled man stood in the door. "Broodin' about the manners again, I see."

"Rowland?" He glanced back out the window. "Dare I say Brigette sent you?"

"Y'know how your sister is," Rowland grumbled, raising an eyebrow. Unlike his stepbrother Lane, Rowland had long ago shaved his head bald, and the only hint of his true hair color on his face was the rusty-gold goatee that lined his lower jaw. With his pierced ears, and the intricate tattoo that crawled up the side of his neck to rest behind his ear, Rould always thought he looked like a friendly pirate. Rowland had been amused by the term, since it seemed everyone else - except for Brigette - seemed to think he was the very _opposite _of a friendly pirate.

"Fancy what a sister can do," Rould murmured, traveling back to his desk to pull out the check sheet for the day - the crew down in the yard weren't known for their lax-style for nothing. He straightened his jacket and began to button it up until he realized that Rowland was giving him a decidedly curious look. "What's the matter, Rowland?"

"She's right - you're not yourself," came the response. Rould only raised an eyebrow.

"How so? I seem perfectly capable of handling today's duties without any emotional toil."

Rowland chuckled. "Your sister knows you better than I, lad. And my younger brother said something about you bein' with hard lines." Rould managed not to laugh, imagining the ill-placed serious look that probably had fallen over Lane's face as he said that, his cap askew and blueprints falling out of his trouser pockets.

"I'll be fine, Rowland," Rould replied as easily as he could, even though the thought of the impending divorce left him feeling decidedly nauseous. "Nothing that you should worry about."

"That's just it, lad. As your brother-in-law, I should worry."

"I know you and Brigette mean well…"

"Stop bein' so bloody self-sacrificing," Rowland suddenly growled, leaning against the wooden doorpost and crossing his arms. "That's probably what's got you all gutted. We both know Eliza won't listen to that, and I'll be sure as rain if that's why you've botched up your vows."

Rould's dark brows lowered dangerously over gray eyes. "I don't recall botching up anything of the sort."

Rowland waved his hand in dismissal. "Think with your heart for once, not your head. And the only way you can do that is for me to buy you a round." Rowland watched in amusement as Rould's face shifted from frustrated anger to surprise to annoyance in a matter of seconds.

"Rowland, if you may not have _noticed_, we're on the bloody clock. I can't sort out my feelings when I have a job to do."

Rowland snorted, crossing the room in three strides before grabbing the sleeve of Rould's jacket and pulling him around the desk. Ignoring the shout of protest, Rowland began to pull Rould to the door, saying as they went, "Leave the talk for some other bloke who cares. I'll put Nigel in charge of the yard - you know he's as ruthless as they come - and we can go down to the pub for a half-minute or so."

Rould would have protested more, but he knew, from the grip Rowland had on his sleeve, that the chances of him making a clean breakaway were slim to none. Rather than fight the inevitable - blast Brigette for marrying such a stubborn bastard - he murmured a half-hearted acquiescence as they departed from the navigational offices (on the way out, Rowland shouted to a passing trimmer to tell Nigel that "Commodore Vandervent and I are out for a bit around the corner" and to "make sure that Edmunn had better not slack off 'gainst the rigging again or else there'll be a mighty fine chance he'll be in a piss poor situation when I get back, all right?").

Rould allowed himself a small smile.

The pub that Rowland managed to pull Rould into wasn't the usual place that most of the crew went after a day in the yard. A few blocks to the south, and unknown to many a passer-by, the pub was dark except for the smudgy windows that overlooked the northern piers. The bar owners, two brothers and one of their wives, were a cheerful, commonfolk sort who never seemed to be impressed with titles or appearances, and always had a dish of gossip whenever regulars (as it always happened to be), wandered in.

"The day's end already?" Gail teased from over the counter where she was washing a few of the more heavily-used mugs of the pub. "Rowland, t'is too early for the rounds, as your usual."

"Aye, if it were the usual occasion," Rowland said with a broad smile. "The brothers gone away for a bit?"

"Gusty's in the room with a cough," Gail replied breezily, twitching her nose. "And the other one is around here in a mess, I'll bet with you on that."

Rould smiled. "Never was a betting man, Gail. How are you?"

"Hopefully better than how you look, Rould. Is there something a-matter?"

Rould only shook his head. "It just seems as if there's never enough time in the world to keep everyone satisfied."

Rowland and Gail exchanged looks, and Rowland abruptly shrugged. "Hell, it's more than he's said to me all day. I believe this is start. Two ales, Gail. Chances are we might be talkin' for awhile." Gail nodded as the two men walked over to the booth just past the window, where they could easily see the piers for the old-fashioned boating systems that some people still preferred.

A few moments later, Gail sat down two thick glass mugs before retreating back behind the customer to tend to a rollicking trio of a greasers who had just walked in. Rowland watched as Rould glanced down at his ale but seemed completely disinclined to drinking it. "The whole gist of this little outin' is for you to actually yak away about your problems, mate."

Rould lifted his dark gray eyes and then glanced at the ring on his finger. "You've never known me to be indecisive, Rowland. Should I just give her what she wants? I've never said no to her before."

"Maybe this is one of those times that you're going to have to stand still."

Rould frowned. "I want her to be happy. I want the girls to be happy. If she honestly thinks that's the best way…" He shook his head, hurt now flashing across his face. "In the end, Eliza has always been right. Maybe if I still love her…no. I still do…I _know _I do."

Rowland raised an eyebrow and took a swig of his ale. "And you're goin' to let it happen then, and everythin' will be as clear as spring?"

Rould's eyes flashed. "I didn't say I agree with it. It's my _family_."

"You'd still have me, Brigette, and Lane. We're your family too, case you've gone daft in forgettin'." Rould said nothing for the longest time, and Rowland felt a twinge of disappointment spark in him. "So you can easily forget this family you've built for yourself for the one that already supports you. Is that what you're fightin' for? Or are you fightin' at all?"

"This is _Eliza _we're talking about," Rould murmured. "The reason I love her is because she's stubborn. I've never doubted her judgment before." Before Rowland could say anything, Rould pounded his fist against the table - hardly enough to rattle the attention of other patrons, but firm enough to make a statement. "But, damn it all, this is not just her decision to make. It's not just her life. Nora…Adelaine…we're all a family."

Rowland stayed silent.

"I don't know, Rowland. I've only wanted the best for them."

"What good is the best if they don't have you?"

Rould raised an eyebrow at him. "Fancy that - Eliza said the same thing."

"I was just tryin' to think of what Brigette would say. Well, after she would tell Eliza to "sod off" for threatenin' to break-up the family. Y'know, for someone from such a posh lifestyle, you Vandervents surely know how to talk the best slang I've ever heard."

"Blame it on our relatives from Davinport. It's the reason I'll never be able to teach Lane to speak properly."

"Lane is a lost cause."

Rould smiled.

"And to think - I almost convinced him to be a pirate."

This time, Rould laughed.

xxx

The girls were asleep once again by the time he visited that night.

He watched them from his seat in the window, watching as the blue-cast of night spilled over the white-and-pink decorated nursery, casting long, even darker blue shadows on dolls that hadn't been put away and the hand-painted rocking horse that stood guard over the wooden dollhouse. Neither Nora nor Adelaine had awoken when he crept into their rooms this time around, kissing both freckled foreheads and tucking the covers closer around them. Adelaine had stirred briefly, but only to more tightly hug the stuffed bear she always slept with.

"I won't give you up," Rould whispered, looking at both of his little girls. "I can't…"

He turned his head back towards the star-freckled sky, glancing out towards the ocean that lay just a few miles to the east. A handful of airships glowed gold against the sky and over the black silhouette of the city. He found it appropriate that the shipyard could only be seen from the south, on the other side of the loft. Outside of this nursery, he was Rould Vandervent, Commodore and master shipbuilder in Barlow's navy.

Inside this nursery, he was just "Poppa".

"Rould."

Eliza's softly-accusing tone did not make him turn around. Rather, he continued to stare out into the night.

"Do you remember when Nora was first born?" he asked quietly. "She would always cry at night if the drapes were never opened."

Eliza was very quiet for a few moments. Then, she murmured almost wistfully, "You said the moon was her guardian and the stars were her lullaby."

Neither of the parents said anything for a number of minutes. Finally, after realizing that his continued presence would only further incense his wife (_for how much longer_, he thought despairingly), he stood and turned away from the door. Looking across the nursery and towards the door, he saw Eliza, highlighted from behind by the gold candlelight in the hallways, her face turned a ghostly blue by the moonlight. He was surprised to see the tears that reflected on her cheeks.

"Eliza…"

"_Damn _you, Rould." Her voice, while soft, seemed so bitter. "How can you make me do this? How can you act like you don't care?"

"How can you think that I don't?" Rould replied, distressed, careful not to raise his voice any louder in fear of waking the girls. "You and Nora and Adelaine mean _everything _to me."

"Obviously we don't mean enough. Don't speak to me of lullabies and what we first did when Nora was born. You have made it perfectly clear where your obligations lie. The girls need a real father, not a ghost of one."

Rould opened his mouth to say something, to say _anything_, but Eliza once again beat him to it, her eyes accusing. "Tell me, Rould. Do you remember what you promised me that night? If you want to share memories, tell me that you remember."

There was only silence.

Eliza darted her eyes away and then spun on her heel, blinking away any tears that threatened to fall. "I thought not."

"You were wearing the peach gown."

Eliza paused in the doorway, her shoulders slumped and Rould took a hesitant step forward.

"You hated the color, but you wore it because I said it reminded me of your hair. You were holding Nora and were leaning against the pillows in the window. Nora was wrapped in the blanket that your mum and your grandmum and your nana passed down through the family - the same blanket that Adelaine sleeps with now. Your hair was in two plaited braids, but one of them was coming undone because the ribbon had fallen out."

He was halfway across the nursery now, and Eliza still made no movement.

"The lullaby - it was something I had never heard of, and you said your grandfather used to sing it to you before he died. And I told you…I told you that it was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard before. I asked you to teach me the words. You only told me once because you hated singing it, only humming it."

Rould touched Eliza's shoulders and found that they were shaking.

"I never forgot the words, Eliza."

Eliza still didn't turn around, only gasping out, "Why? Why can't you…?"

Rould pressed a kiss into her air, feeling his throat tighten as a memory of that night warmed his mind. Yes, he remembered. "If I could, I would make it so I had all the time in the world for you. And I try, Liz. I try, but obviously, I haven't been trying hard enough. If you think this is for the best…"

"How could you _ever _think that going separate ways would ever be for the best?" Eliza murmured, her voice surprisingly strong through the tears that Rould knew were on her cheeks, and hating himself for being the cause of those tears. "I just…I just wanted…I wanted you to _understand_…"

"Can we talk?" Eliza hesitated. "Please. If it means giving up everything else, I don't care. But I _need _you, Liz. I need you and Nora and Adelaine."

Seconds passed, and Rould knew that whatever answer Eliza would give would make or break them. He knew what she wanted, knew what she thought was possibly the best route, and he knew that whatever her decision, he had just promised her to respect it and follow through on it…

"Tomorrow."

Confusion. "Tomorrow?"

Eliza nodded, and turned back to face him. Her eyes were slightly red at the edges, and the tip of her nose was pink. "I need to…I need to think. You've promised me all the time in the world…and, I just have to think…"

Rould nodded, and leaned forward to gently kiss her cheek. "I understand, Liz. But…tomorrow."

"And the yard?"

"You are far more important than the yard will never be."

Eliza nodded, a small smile coming onto her face as Rould gently squeezed her shoulders and slipped past her out of the nursery. Just as he reached the front door to the loft, he heard her call out very quietly, "Rould…what's the _Crea Novada_?"

Curious to where she had learned that, Rould only smiled to himself and quietly called back, "A place of dreams, Liz. It belongs to the girls."

And then, leaving her with that thought, he shut the door and began to head down the hallways towards the grand staircase. He knew that the other residents of the apartments were already fast asleep - it was far too late at night to be wandering the common hallways or the grand lobby where the footmen waited patiently and eternally.

Stepping out past the white wooden doors and murmuring a good night to the young doorman standing just outside in the balmy summer evening. The young man tipped his hat graciously as Rould walked around the corner, heading towards the parks where he and Eliza had always taken the girls before the his schedule had overrun his life.

Tomorrow seemed like such a pleasant word now.

He wasn't a betting man, never had been, but even if it seemed that he would lose the job that he was so good at, he deemed it a wager if his family was the prize.

I'll promise you the world if I have to…and time…I promised you forever once before, and I'll promise it again…with a lullaby…and for the girls…

Turning the corner, his eyes only briefly fell on the moving shadows that were badgering a pair of drunken businessmen, watching as they laughingly swatted the golden-eyed creatures away. Rould paused in the middle of his stride, and felt something…something…settle uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach…

"What's all this…?" he murmured, taking a step back.

One of the men looked up at the sound of his voice, and sounded something like a vaguely slurred warning, but one of the creatures had already swiveled its head towards him. It was a strange looking creature, yellow eyes peering from under a helmet like the ones from the High Monarchy.

Rould didn't even have time to comprehend that something was horribly wrong as his eyes fell on one of the men who dissolved in a mist of shadow wisps, his eyes melting into the wrong color of gold…

…and the clattering of metal was the only alert as those eyes were suddenly too close to him, and now there was an additional creature…and two jagged claws reaching towards him…reaching in him and pulling something…something…something that glittered as bright and powerful as the stars in a lulla-

xxx

"Do you want to increase your chances of failure?"

The redhead snorted and crossed his arms. "He doesn't know anything. But he's getting more and more curious. Can't say I blame the kid, all things considering." Green eyes narrowed, and he turned to face his comrade. "Why do you want to know anyway?"

"No reason," the blond man murmured, snapping his fingers and causing a card to appear in them. "But the game is much more entertaining when the stakes are raised." He raised an eyebrow as three more cards appeared. "Which path will you take Axel?"

"I don't have to play your games. The one who's going to regret this all is Roxas." And with that, the redhead was gone, leaving the tenth member of the Organization standing in the middle of the stark-white hallway alone. Ice-blue eyes glanced out the nearest window where the strangely-shaped moon hung heavy in the black sky.

He remembered something of another sky, filled with stars…

The cards disappeared, save for one, and Luxord glanced at it with a frown.

"A decent wager, Axel. A decent wager."

xxx

**Author's Note** (13 Mar 08): Nine months. I will hang my head in shame. I have no excuse except for writer's block with this chapter. Luxord's Other was way too hard to write. Well, the good news is that Marluxia's Other is a heck of a lot easier to write, and should be updated FAR sooner than nine months from now.

The whole gist of this chapter was inspired by turn-of-the-century shipbuilding (thank my ever-steady obsession with _Titanic _for that). And I will never write a British-inspired character ever again. Lane's dialogue (a motley bit of Welsh and Cockney with pronounceable h's) gave me a headache.

Songs lyrics for the previous few chapters: "One by One" by The Calling, "One Song Glory" from _Rent_, and "Light in Your Eyes" by Blessid Union of Souls, which was strangely fitting for this chapter…

- Nashie


	6. Where I Belong With You Tonight

_**Somebody, Somewhere, Someday**_

_Chapter 4: "Where I Belong With You Tonight"_

Written by Samurai-Nashie

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts is owned by Square-Enix and Disney respectively. This is a non-profit literary work written for entertainment purposes, and I have no legal claim to any of the previously created characters used in this fan fiction.

xxx

The car that pulled up into the house at the end of the cul-de-sac was nothing short of cute - the pale yellow-gold that glinted off the sleek rounded body in the early June sunlight nearly screamed "summer", as did the sunflower pendent that rested at the top of the radio antennae. The license plate, too, seemed to speak of a spunky personality, as it quite blatantly spelled out DANCE B.

The car rolled to a stop in the driveway. The driver's door opened, and out stepped an almost-drastically thin, long-legged young woman with caramel-hued skin. Throwing a beaten messenger bag over her shoulder and quickly tying her long curls into two manageable pigtails, the girl slammed the door shut with her hip and then raced down the walkway towards the front door. Mildly cursing the humidity, she rang the doorbell.

A few moments passed, and the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged woman, her dark brown hair only mildly streaked with gray even though her face was streaked with what looked like flour and orange frosting. The girl's face split into a grin. "Morning, Ms. Esposito."

"You're here early, Charlotte," the woman said with a low laugh and accented voice, wiping her hands on her African-print shift.

"I'm guessing the twins are here," Charlie said (the only person who ever called her by her full name was the woman) with a grin as she was allowed into the house. "Both sets, that is." The other woman rolled her eyes - as much as Diana Esposito loved her two sons, and her two grandchildren, Charlie knew it could be a bit much sometimes. A house full of twins was often accompanied by hours worth of baking cookies, another hour of Diana declaring that she didn't want any more grandchildren (a direct glare at both of her sons), and then two hours of molding pottery with the younger set of twins in the sunroom.

"I don't know why Dre must insist on bringing the girls over here," Diana proclaimed melodramatically. "He knows that I'll spoil them rotten. And since their favorite toy is currently in the basement…"

"Ah, Maia got away while he could this time…"

Diana smiled as a pair of thundering feet could be heard coming from the sunroom. "The girls will realize one day that make-up goes on girl's faces only." Charlie snickered just as two dark-haired girls came bursting through the living room, nearly knocking over a Chinese vase in the process. Diana quickly chided the two twins, Anna and Mariella, about running through the house, and the five-year-olds quickly murmured apologies before launching themselves at Charlie.

"Charlie!"

Five minutes later, after promising to take the girls to the park just behind the house after she was done speaking to "Uncle Maia", Charlie slipped from the living room and headed towards the kitchen, where the door to the basement was. She could hear the sounds of Delibes coming from the basement even before she opened the door, and a small smile appeared on her face.

Descending the stairs, the music became more apparent. "_Sylvia_," she murmured, opening the door at the very bottom of the basement.

Some basements, Charlie had come to realize, always had that low, closed-in feeling and always smelled up mildew and laundry detergent. Not this house - since the house was built on a steeply-sloping hill, the basement, acting more like a lower level than anything, was above ground, and had high walls. The entire southern wall was made up of sliding doors that led directly to the back patio that overlooked the lake. The northern wall was full of mirrors - long ago, when Diana had realized the youngest of her twin boys was a dancer, she had had them installed and the basement had soon become a dance studio.

That's where Maia currently was. Charlie watched with a mixture of admiration, pride, and lust, as was befitting the dancer's partner (both on and off stage). Maia's russet-colored hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, a few strands that had escaped flying around his face as he performed a perfectly executed _fouette en tournant_. Counting twelve (and singularly impressed by his lines), Charlie glanced over to her right - ah, there. Whenever they practiced, the CD player was moved to the very corner of the room so that no on accidentally tripped over it and broke something important…like a leg.

Charlie knew this CD by heart, and smirked to herself, knowing that there was more on the CD than just the _Sylvia_'s famous pizzicoti, and, stepping over to the CD player, pressed the forward button three times.

To his credit, Maia only paused briefly, his hazel eyes briefly meeting hers before the bass-heavy track of an old-school hip-hop song broke through the speakers of the CD player. Charlie knew Diana would most likely complain of the noise later, but ignored it in favor of watching Maia easily shift from the straight, fluid lines of ballet form to the intricate footwork of toprock. Seconds later, with enough grace to leave even the most talented of dancers envious, Maia had swept into an assured windmill, switching between that and flares with ease.

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Show off."

Maia heard her, of course, and stopped, lying on the ground and staring at the ceiling. "You're the one who changed the music. In fact…" he sat up and rested back on his elbows, "…in fact, aren't you the one who burned the CD so I could learn how to do that? Something about proving to Derek and Raymond that I can do more than pirouettes and grand jetés."

"Yeah, but now you're showing me up," teased the dark-haired girl, dropping her messenger bag on the floor. "Of course, I still get the better moves in ballet. And I look better in tights."

"Ouch," murmured Maia, falling back on the ground.

"How long have you been down here?"

"I don't know - when did Dre bring the girls over?"

Charlie rolled her eyes and laughed, knowing that Maia had probably been down here the moment Dre had shown up on the doorstep with two rambunctious five-year-olds in tow. Still, despite his proclaimed fear of all things that came attached with his two nieces, Charlie knew he loved them to pieces. And besides, Dre would always somehow find him - it wasn't as if there were many places to go. Diana's house drew people like moths to a flame - it had been left to her when her parents had moved to warmer climates twenty-odd years ago, sometime right after the twins' father had walked out on them.

Diana had raised them the best she could, but knowing how they were now, Charlie suspected that it had been anything but easy. From the stories she heard, Adreyen and Rumaial (Diana had been infatuated with fantasy novels when the twins were born and the idea of creating nonsensical names still irked the young men to no degree - it was the reason they had taken up the nicknames Dre and Maia) had been as mischievous as two identical twins could be. Maia still grew hesitant when Diana wickedly brought out the old photo albums.

Even in the old pictures, in the few glimpses Charlie ever had of their father, she still admitted that the twins looked far more like their Italian mother, despite the fact that they both had hints of their father's Irish heritage - their coppery-red hair, Dre's blue eyes, Maia's freckles which often didn't appear on his olive-tinted skin. And they were damn gorgeous too - everyone certainly thought so in high school.

Charlie kneeled next to Maia and wrinkled her nose. "So I guess you're leaving me to take them to the park."

Maia raised an eyebrow at her. "It's spring."

"Yes."

"If you recall, I have allergies."

"Oh, you big baby." Charlie rocked backwards onto her heels. "Fine. I'll take the girls for a small spin around the swing sets, and you be ready to go by the time I get back." Maia's lips quirked into a smile and he sat up, pretending exhaustion, even though Charlie knew that exhaustion often meant the day after a major performance (the last one had been three weeks ago in front of the most prestigious dance companies in the nation - Charlie still grumbled about _that _one).

As if on cue, there was a sound of distant thundering feet that gradually increased, and then there was loud, girlish yammering as two pigtailed-girls emerged into the basement, identical pink baseball caps on their heads. Anna held a baby doll that was nearly as big as she was under one arm, while Mariella held a kite in her tiny fists.

"Charlie!" the twins chorused.

"We're going to the park now?"

"We're gonna fly kites, right?"

"I don't wanna fly kites!"

"You're a baby!"

"Uncle Maaaaia! Mariella called me a baby…!"

Maia sighed and rose to his feet, tucking a stray strand of reddish hair behind his ear. "Mari, don't call your sister a baby." Charlie refrained from laughing - she always teased him about his leniency in disciple which he always shrugged off with a lopsided smile, as he did now. He squatted down next to the twins, resting his elbows on his knees and smiled at them. "Now you're not going to give Charlie here a hard time, are you? I don't want her to say that you two were bad."

"We won't!" the five-year-olds chirped, wrapping their arms around their uncle. "We promise!" Maia winced slightly as he found the edge of the kite jabbing him in his ribs, and he had to crane his neck slightly to avoid being strangled by the baby doll. Charlie chuckled at the sight, hands on her hips before tapping both of the girls on their shoulders. Pigtails went spinning and chatter ensued as Anna grabbed Charlie's left hand and Mariella grabbed her other, pulling her up the stairs.

She glanced back over her shoulder for just one instant before mouthing, "you owe me, babe," and then she was gone.

xxx

It was another half-hour before he decided that maybe he should take a break.

Maia stretched his lithe limbs, almost running an idle hand through his hair until he remembered that it was still bound by a rubber band. Resisting the urge to pull the offending hair item out, he walked over to the CD player and carefully removed the much-abused CD. He examined the golden sheen for a moment before sliding it back into its base, rocking back onto his heels before standing up. He would rather have had the full version of _Sylvia _to practice to - another performance, this time with the professional company, was in three weeks and he still was wary of the _pas de deux _with Charlie at the end of the third act only because their choreographer Katya insisted on making it more difficult at the last minute (and therefore more spectacular) for his two gifted leads.

Shutting the CD player into the closet, he grabbed the small towel that had been sitting next to it and slung it around his neck. He knew he was good at it - what he deemed adequate was usually the envy of the other dancers at the company. It was probably the reason why he and Charlie had been drawn together in the first place - they both demanded perfection in themselves and their performances, and often, perfection usually caused even the most stringent and snooty of ballet instructors to murmur in heady acknowledgement.

He began to head up the stairs, his long-practiced grace rendering him silent as he ascended into the kitchen. He knew that in the coming weeks that he and Charlie would be practicing at every waking moment, to make sure that their _pas de deux _was, of course, perfect.

An identical version of him was leaning against the island in the kitchen, surrounded by all the ingredients to either make another a-bomb or some sort of sandwich. The only difference was that this doppelganger's red hair was cropped short, a month or so out of a buzz cut, and his eyes were deep blue instead of hazel. And the big grin that suddenly spread across his face was nowhere near Maia's far more reserved smiles.

"What's up, Maia? I saw the girls pulling Charlie out of here like it was the end of the world."

"She was taking them to the park. Which I thought you were supposed to do since you're their father."

"I don't do parks. Too many dogs and pigeons and…"

"You're just lazy."

"I'm laidback. There's a difference."

"Both require minimal energy used."

"Snob."

"Bum."

The two brothers glared at each other for a long moment before Dre sighed, and pushed a plate in his twin's direction. "Want a sandwich?" Maia shook his head and Dre snorted, returning to the concoction that may or may not have been a sandwich in a previous life. "You eat like a bird, man. Would it kill you to put on some weight? You're almost as bad as Charlie."

Maia raised an eyebrow. "We're dancers. Ballet dancers, at that. We're not supposed to eat anything or else we'd ruin everyone's stereotypical views of us."

Dre laughed, a full-throated sound that involved him throwing his head back. He winked at the older twin. "But it's so much fun teasing you. Come on - I'll even get out the whole grain bread and you can eat it with just lettuce to make you feel better. Or are carbs your enemy now too?"

Maia rolled his eyes and walked over to refrigerator, opening it and peering inside. It was good that they could laugh about the life of a dancer now - in middle school, when Dre found out that his brother was taking ballet classes, had been the source of ruthless teasing, always making notes about tutus and extremely feminine dance moves. It wasn't until they were in high school and someone started a vicious rumor about Maia's sexuality that Maia found out that the teasing was only shallow - Dre had immediately jumped to his brother's defense.

It was only a short time after that that Dre found out that years of dancing could build up a lot of muscle, and had been singularly amused when Maia had punched his tormentor in the jaw, knocking loose a few teeth and leaving a shiner that would be whispered about for weeks to come.

"So…have you asked her yet?"

Maia's head appeared over the edge of the refrigerator door and he narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Asked her what?"

"You may be a ridiculous perfectionist, but secret agent you're not. I saw the box."

Maia fell silent.

"You're going to ask her."

"I might ask her."

"You bought the ring. I would assume that you're going to ask her."

Maia closed the door, and propped a hip up against the stove. "We just got finished with a performance. _Sylvia _is going to be bigger than that, and the next three weeks are going to be filled with rehearsals - you know how Katya is." A silly grin appeared on Dre's face, and Maia rolled his eyes. "You're a pervert, you know? She's fifteen years older than us."

"She ages like fine wine."

"Shut up. Like I said, during the next three weeks, when am I going to ask her? Before or after we're dead tired to do anything?"

Dre opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, their mother entered the room, freshly scrubbed from the sugar cookies she had been making with Anna and Mariella before. She had changed into a red-and-yellow kimono, and smelled now of pastries and citrus. She gave Dre a disapproving look at the mess he was making on the counter, and clucked her tongue as she immediately began fussing over it.

"Are you going to clean this mess up?" the woman murmured, grabbing bits and pieces of the ingredients and stuffing her arms with them. "This is not your personal restaurant. Last time I checked, you have your own apartment with your own food. I am not a grocery store - and Maia, why are you letting him sit in here and mess up my kitchen?"

The twins shared looks, and Dre only smirked, taking a defiant bite out of his sandwich. Maia sighed, and only rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "Sorry, Mom. I'll try to make sure that my brother doesn't mess up your kitchen again."

"Hmph."

Dre sniggered. "Maia's going to ask Charlie to marry him."

"Dre!"

"I _know _that, Dre."

"Mom…" Maia murmured, giving her a betrayed look. "You knew?" Diana Esposito raised an eyebrow as she placed the loaf of bread back in the pantry, and Maia only groaned, sitting down on one of the stools at the island. "Is it really that obvious?"

"You're not exactly the most subtle person outside of dance, Maia." The woman smiled as she leaned against the counter. "Besides, I think it would be nice if someone in this family finally got married. You might start a trend." She then tapped Dre on the thigh. "I love Anna and Mariella dearly, but you know that I wish they had more of a mother-figure. Especially since Charlotte doesn't count."

"Hey, Mom, me and Maia turned out just fine and we didn't have a father-figure in our life," Dre said with a grin, nudging Maia in a shoulder. "Well, Maia wears make-up and dresses in tights for a career, but other than that…"

"And Dre is a lazy college drop-out with no girlfriend and two kids."

"Ooh, low blow, bro."

Diana only murmured something under her breath, resting a hand on Maia's shoulder. "Whatever you decide to do and whenever, I'll support your decision. Of course, I already think of Charlotte as a daughter. But that was a very lovely ring you bought her, though I do wonder how you managed to afford a four-carat princess cut…"

Maia only hid a smile, and walked out of the kitchen, leaving his mother and his brother to the gossiping that they so loved to do. He passed through the sunroom and out onto the back patio, where his mother had set up her summer furniture - wicker chairs padded with faded green-and-white checkered seat cushions, a wrought-iron table that Maia's grandparents had bought from Venice twelve years ago, and various hand-painted flower pots that were just beginning to show the bright vestiges of late spring, mountain-laurels.

The patio overlooked the beachfront - and it was looking to be a beautiful day. The sky was clear of clouds, and the sun was just finishing its grand arch into the sky. The sharp smell of salt and freshly-cut grass permeated the air, accompanied by distant roar of the incoming tides. Maia already felt the telltale prickling at the back of his nose, and refrained from going back inside. He perched on the very edge of one of the wicker chairs, beneath bell-shaped wind chimes.

He remembered many years ago when he, Dre, and their grandparents used to come out there in the late evenings, with the sun hanging fat and low above the lake, and the sky turned into a motley of hot pinks, vibrant oranges, and royal purples. Their _nonna _would sit on the wicker chair that creaked, Maia sitting in her lap, and watching as her fingers fiddled with the twine bracelets she would make. Dre - insisting that he didn't need to be held - would sit at their grandfather's feet and they would both listen to the stories told in their grandparents' mother tongue, interspersed with heavily-accented Italian.

Maia had told his _nonna _first that he was thinking about proposing to Charlie. He hadn't felt like he was betraying his mother because he suspected that she already knew that he was wavering between asking her and not. His grandmother had been pleasantly surprised, and immediately offered all sorts of advice and encouragement - so much so that Maia himself had to end the conversation before the resulting phone bill would result in his going bankrupt.

_She talks as much as Dre and Mom_, Maia thought dryly. He looked out over the railing then - the same way he had all those years ago, and sighed as a sea-scented breeze ruffled a few strands of his hair.

"Maia?"

The young man turned to where Diana stood in the doorway, a warm smile on her face as she glanced at her son. "Did Dre and I scare you off?"

"Of course not."

Diana only shook her head and then sat down in the unoccupied chair. For a moment, silence reigned between the mother and son, until Diana cheerfully noted, "So what do you think of the new flowers? I tried to find something you wouldn't be allergic to, and these are pretty, don't you think?"

"Well, they aren't roses."

"That would surprise her, you know," Diana mused. "Proposing to her with a bouquet of roses. Going down on one knee. Maybe you should take her to a restaurant, but then actually do the proposal outside in the moonlight. That would be so romantic."

Maia laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and not quite meeting her gaze. "It would, wouldn't it? You know she would hate it. She hates unoriginality - she and Katya were fighting for weeks about her choreography for the last recital, and they're still grinding each other's nerves about Charlie's costume for _Sylvia_."

Diana only smiled. "That is why you love her."

Maia nodded. "I do."

"Well, don't let me try to change your mind on the way you're going to do it - you are going to do it, aren't you? After all, it would be such a sad waste of money if you bought the ring and then didn't propose to the girl. I'm sure Charlotte would be very much impressed by _that _originality." Maia's lips quirked into a smirk and Diana only laughed, that rich, low sound that reverberated across the patio. "Honey, you can be indecisive at the very wrong moments. Just ask her."

"You just found out that I even bought the ring, and you're acting like you want me to propose tonight."

"Oh, Maia, I knew you had the ring a month ago." Maia frowned at her, and his mother only smiled in response. "I'm a mother, darling. I know these things."

Before Maia could even articulate a decent response, a cheery voice, almost drowned out by incessant youthful chatter, belted through the doorway. "I'm back - and Maia, I swear if you're hiding again, I will elope with your brother in Tahiti."

"Daddy, what's elope?"

"It means…"

"It's a fruit, silly!"

"I'm not silly!"

"You are rubber and I am glue…"

"_DADDY_!!"

Maia and Diana shared looks before quickly entering the house to rescue Charlie from the clutches of her possibly soon-to-be brother-in-law and the screeching twins from hell.

xxx

The city's performing arts center was probably one of the oldest in the nation, and while the rustic appeal had been charming and quaint, the owners, the performers, and various patrons realized that it wasn't exactly the best of places to put on state-of-the-art performances. Three years back, the building had been shut down for renovations and opened a year-and-a-half later with enough new equipment for everyone in the theatre world (and everywhere else) to gush over.

It was located just east of the performance district downtown, a few blocks off the street that many recognized as one of the most theatrical districts in the country. Maia knew it like the back of his hand, and watched as various buildings and restaurants passed by the windows of Charlie's car. She was sitting in the driver's seat, tapping out the beat of an unheard salsa against her steering wheel. She had just turned off her CD filled various Latin musical themes, teasing, "It's still not theatre without the lambada."

Charlie ended up parking across the street in front of the bar and restaurant that most of their fellow dancers headed to after performances. Gracefully sliding out of the car, she grinned at Maia who was reaching in the backseat for his bag. "The theatre's ours until Katya or Pieter come up and yell at us. Although…" She glanced at her watch. "It's pretty late in the afternoon - you don't think anyone's going to be here, do you?"

They raced across the street, and as they bounded across the curb, Maia shrugged one shoulder. "The one day we get off before the next three weeks of hell, and you think anyone's going to come here to practice? Charlie, you know that only you and I are that pathetic." Charlie rolled her eyes as they crossed to the stage door of the theatre - Charlie had long since usurped the key from one of the janitors after informing Katya that they weren't trying to burn down the performance hall, despite the fact that their intense schedule and rigid choreography would tempt them to do it.

The halls of the building were dark and plain - nothing like the maroon-carpeted and marble-encrusted foyer that that paying members of the public usually saw. When it had come to the remodeling, the long narrow hallways of the backstage world had all been forgotten in face of the grand reconstruction of the auditorium and outside décor. Maia and Charlie weaved their way through the corridors, finally stopping at a solid, metal door.

"Your turn," Charlie murmured as Maia sidestepped her and, inserting his key, swung the door open, and they quickly passed into the wings of the stage, surrounded by the ropes and pulleys and weights of the rigging, a few feet away from the thick black curtains that separated the wings from the stage. Charlie grinned, and darted out from the curtains onto the stage, leaving Maia to flip on a few of the work lights. After that, he strode out onto center stage with Charlie who had struck a ridiculous pose, her long, slender limbs outstretched from her body, looking as graceful as a swan.

"No pirouettes?" Maia asked, as he headed off into a nook of the stage left corner where he and Charlie had stashed a CD player a few days back (Katya was not at all a fan of them leaving their personal items lying around the stage). He quickly searched through Charlie's purse (after she had tossed it at him, chiding him not to "break the compact"), and pulled out a worn cassette tape. Scrawled across one side was "_Sylvia - 4th performance - act III, w/ P. Van Duzen_" - the other side was blank.

"Not today," Charlie murmured, stretching out her limbs, appearing very much like a cat as she did so. "The one thing I hate about rehearsing on this stage is that there are no bars." She slowly lifted her leg up so that it was vertical to her torso, and, while maintaining her balance, wrapped a hand around her ankle to perform a gentle stretch. "So now, we don't have just the best technique but the best balance out of all the dancers in the company."

"You're incredibly humble," Maia noted dryly.

Charlie only smiled.

Ten minutes later, they still hadn't started. Somewhere in that brief period of time, they had gotten sidetracked into a conversation about college, and they both had stopped in the middle of their stretching to continue their conversation more comfortable. Charlie was lying on her stomach, feet crossed at the ankles as she lowered her lower legs up and down, tracing circles in the black wooden floor. Maia sat cross-legged in front of her, his chin resting in his palm as he gazed down at her.

"I think that all the new kids that company is hiring don't have enough experience," Charlie chimed in.

"You make it sound like we're old."

"Twenty-four _is_ old, if you consider that they're hiring some of these kids right out of high school."

"Charlie, we were hired right out of high school. Remember - they wanted me to have a tutor my junior and senior year so I could start in the company earlier…"

Charlie laughed, her dark brown eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, I'm sorry that we can't all be like the great Rumaial Esposito. Us mere mortals have to make-do with impressing the college scouts." She turned onto her back and stared up at the lights far, far overhead. "Although, I always did love watching you dance. You made it seem so easy, all those things that you did." She hit him on the knee. "And I hate that you can pick up any dance style without even trying. Salsa and bachata belonged to me."

"Sorry," Maia laughed. "I didn't know you claimed them."

"You steal my dances, my free time, and my heart. Is there anything left to take?"

Maia smiled, shifting to kneel and then rising to his knees with fluid grace. He crossed over to the CD player, fiddled with it so that Charlie couldn't see, and then crossed back over to her as a song began to drift from the speakers. It wasn't from _Sylvia_. "Dance with me." Charlie's eyes widened as the slow strands of the violin wafted across the stage, filling the huge empty space with an echoing bittersweet melody. She opened her mouth to say something, but Maia shook his head, placing his hands on her waist and spinning her slowly so that her back was against his chest. "Forget rehearsing. We have the next three weeks for that."

"This was the first song we danced to, you know…" Charlie whispered, closing her eyes. "At the Parks. Remember? My partner broke his ankle, and you stepped right in…didn't even need me to teach you the steps, you just _knew_…" Maia only smiled in response, kissing her neck. "This was more _Romeo and Juliet _than anything, you know…I love this song."

And then they were dancing.

It wasn't some sort of technical dance - no, it didn't have a name. It was a mixture of everything they knew, different forms of dances interwoven into one, only known by them. And as Nino Rota's famous ballad drifted through the theatre, they moved in harmony, the tranquility only broken every one so often by a giggle from Charlie and a hushed murmur from Maia. The steps were intricate, their bodies moved with the assured trust of knowing the other person explicitly and with abandon…

As they danced, Maia's mind wandered back onto the conversation he had with his mother. Asking Charlie to marry him…it would be the big. The ballerina usually had so many young men chasing her, vying for her interest. She was like the untouchable prize - graceful, beautiful, with a sharp wit and a grovel-worthy talent. Whenever she made known that she was taken, Maia had always received envious glances by the rejected parties.

Other than their dancing, which everyone agreed that they were absolutely perfect for each other since Maia was one of a few dancers who was actually taller than Charlie, he almost thought they had nothing in common. He was reserved, thoughtful, and preferred to be by himself, but she was the social butterfly, physically and figuratively. They didn't match, and they did…

…he loved her for that.

"The music stopped." Maia opened his eyes and found himself staring at Charlie, who had wrapped her arms around his neck and was gazing at him curiously. "Are we still going to dance to the silence?"

"That would be interesting ballet, wouldn't it?" noted Maia, making a face. Charlie chuckled, and loosened her grip. "Come on, lets get out of here."

"Wait - what? We didn't even rehearse! And the _pas de deux _is still sloppy and we still don't have the last scene down…"

Maia kissed her to shut her up. "Charlie, this is the last break we get before three weeks of constant rehearsal. Do you really want to spend it here when we're probably going to hate this place after the fourth performance?" Charlie was quiet, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. "I thought so. Come on."

Packing up as quickly as they had arrived, they darted off stage, through the corridors, and back out through the stage door they had entered a little over an hour and a half earlier. The temperature had dropped slightly, and now, the vestiges of mid-evening good be seen and felt in the late spring humidity. The traffic just down the block was already in the midst of the slow crawl of rush-hour, and the pale rose light of the setting sun cast long gray shadows as the streetlights began to flicker orange.

They began to head towards Charlie's car, and the young woman removed her phone from her coat. "Maybe we should meet Sergei and Ashleigh at the bar over by their loft - you know how much they've been desperate to get outside since the storm."

Maia wrapped one arm around Charlie's shoulders and glanced down at the phone as they came to a halt. "That wouldn't be a bad idea. But it's still too early. Tell them we'll meet at the bar around ten - as long as they know that ten means ten and not eleven-thirty like last time."

A few minutes later, with the call made (and Charlie excitedly talking to Ashleigh about the pair's upcoming tour), they walked around to the front of the building. The magnificent façade hadn't had much changes made to it during the renovations - it still highly resembled the Italian La Rotonda, and looked absolutely breathtaking in the late evening. Unfortunately, much to Maia's chagrin, the landscapers had decided that adding an overabundance of flora and fauna to the front would increase the property's aesthetic values.

Maia sneezed.

"The flowers don't agree with you again?" Charlie teased.

"No, the flowers do _not_," Maia sniffed, wrinkling his nose. "I hate late spring."

"Well, you're going to have to learn how to love them if you're planning to propose to me with them." Charlie laughed at the surprised look that passed over Maia's face. "Don't look so surprised - Maia, you're terrible at hiding secrets. And buying me a ring was probably the biggest secret of all." Maia opened his mouth to say something, looking decidedly disgruntled, but the dark-skinned girl only shook her head. "No, your mother and Dre said nothing about it."

Maia watched her for a moment, coming to a halt, ignoring the fact that they were surrounded by enough plants and flowers to put his sinuses into overdrive. "You do know that you knowing that I was going to ask you takes all the surprise and romance out of a proposal."

Charlie pulled herself out of his embrace, turning to face him, hands on her hips and a frown on her face. "What, you can't ask me if I know?"

"Well, it sort of defeats the purpose…"

Charlie laughed, a clear, bell-like song that danced through the air. "Maia - just ask me. And if I know you're going to ask, then you probably already know what my answer is."

"Again, I really don't see the point in asking if I already know the answer…" He crossed his arms, and gave her an amused hazel glance. "Besides, I don't have the ring with me. At least let me try to salvage my idea of a proposal."

Charlie would have responded, except the bushes rustled heavily despite the lack of wind blowing through the night. She glanced at it curiously, and then leaned over to peer through the thick greenery. "You think there might be a nest in here? It is the season for robins…"

Maia said nothing. He never had a chance to.

At that moment, a sword emerged from the bushes, followed by something fast - almost too fast to be noticed. Maia managed to take a glimpse of red and yellow and snarling teeth and claws before the sword descended. It was only sheer reaction that caused him to reach out and snatch a stunned Charlie out of the way. The sword thudded into the ground, but somehow…the thing…didn't seem to fazed by it. Yellows eyes glowed hazily in the oncoming twilight, and it made some sort of inhuman noise that made Maia sick to his stomach.

"What _is _that?" Charlie breathed as they backed away from the creature.

"I don't think we want to find out," Maia murmured, pulling Charlie behind him so that he was forming a shield. The creature jerked and took a step forwards, swinging its sword with lethal intent. It was the fact that it was soon joined by another identical creature that leapt from the bushes that startled them even more. Maia narrowed his eyes. "It doesn't look…" He stopped, and wrapped a firm hand around his girlfriend's thin wrist. "On the count of three, run towards the car. Do not stop, do not look back."

"Maia…"

"One…"

The two creatures shared looks, and one of them reared back on its legs, the snarling, screeching noises it made increasing.

"Two…"

The creature leapt, and knocked into the both of them, sending them both crashing into the concrete. It didn't take long for the other thing to quickly move into action, waving its sword, dark saliva dripping from the open space of what was probably its mouth. Maia winced and bit back a yell when the edge of the first creature's sword bit into his forearm. "Charlie, run!"

The dark-haired girl was splayed out just behind him, the wind knocked out of her by the fall. She blinked dazedly at Maia, and opened her mouth to whisper, "What…?" before the sword of a third creature, unseen by both of them, silenced her. The wickedly-curved blade buried itself into the ground next to her, and the scream that she may have made died on her lips. Big brown eyes sought Maia's in shock before she scrambled to her feet, fear making her usually polished movements seem clumsy.

"Go!"

"Maia…!?"

He didn't say anything - couldn't say anything - because the other two creatures howled in victory, and with powerful blows that were belied by their size, knocked him upwards and back into the thorny bushes from with they had emerged. He caught the faintest glimpse of something sparkling rising from where Charlie still stood, frozen in shock, and a brief flash of light before he landed with a painful thud amongst thorns and branches and petals falling from their misplaced location.

The creatures were on him then, even as the barbs bit into his skin, leaving red scratches. And he only noticed, as twilight fell and the greenery surrounded him…one of the shadows raising its swords and then plummeting…too fast…too soon…oh _no, Char_-

xxx

He watched her with a frown.

The tiny girl scribbled frantically away at a formerly pristine sheet of paper, her blonde locks cascading over her face and obscuring pale, pale eyes. She was probably trying to avoid looking at him - he saw the way her first tightened around the red crayon when he appeared in the room. Lexaeus had come earlier, watching just as he did now, but then the bigger man, with a faint nod to the eleventh member of the Organization, drifted away into the brilliant white hallways.

"Hello, Naminé."

A slow smile crept onto his face as the girl shuddered, but kept her head low as she bit her lip. She spoke not a word, only kept her shoulders hunched, breathing in shallow breaths the sakura-scented air that always followed him everywhere…

"He'll come for you, Naminé. Your hero will come for you. But until then…"

Marluxia walked slowly to behind her chair and then gracefully leaned over to whisper in her ear, his breath warm where his voice was not.

"Until then…you belong to me."

xxx

**Author's Note **(14 June 08): The trademark of this story is officially long waits between chapters. I really don't know what else to say, other than the fact that I can't go to sleep now because a KH RPG over on Livejournal has taken over my life, but it's ridiculously fun and addictive, so I don't regret it.

Yes, I absolutely adore the idea of Marluxia's Other being a dancer and allergic to flowers. I added other idiosyncrasies to the other characters, but dear reader, you've probably found them by now.

Anna and Mariella are the Italian variations of Anne and Mary - yes, I named them after the infamous Boleyn sisters. _The Tudors _is a fascinating show, and the actress who played Anne was fantastic. Hopefully, Dre's daughter with the similar name doesn't mean the same end.

Lenera's chapter is next. And then there's the epilogue, because we all know how Sora's chapter would go.

The chapter title comes from a song lyric in "First Time" by Lifehouse.

- Nashie


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